


What Makes a King

by Wenderful52



Series: Two Thrones [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And Winter Came..., Barduil - Freeform, Barduil is my life, Bisexual Male Character, Elves have no hangups about M/M Relationships, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Festival of Midsummer, Friendship/Love, Galion is my hero, Grief/Mourning, Hilda rocks, Hurt/Comfort, Laketown and Dale don't have hangups about M/M either, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, They don't make Elves like they used to, Two Thrones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 19:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 238,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wenderful52/pseuds/Wenderful52
Summary: Bard has no idea how to be a King, but he loves his children and his people, and knows how to show it.  Thranduil has been a ruler for millennia, but terrible loss and trauma has kept him from showing love towards his son and kindness towards his people.  Together, they give one another lessons in life, love and "Kinging."





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to pay homage to the writer who first introduced me to the wonderful world of Barduil - EldritchMage, and her wonderful series, The Angel and the Saint, which is long, but you’ll love it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my first efforts at writing, and be sure and check out all the wonderful works I have tagged in this story!

** Chapter One **

_Still I’m pinned under the weight_  
Of what I believed would keep me safe.  
So show me where my armor ends,  
Show me where my skin begins.  
Like a final puzzle piece  
It all makes perfect sense to me…  
The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity.  
The heaviness that I hold in my heart’s been crushing me.

Lyrics from “ **Pluto** ” by  **Sleeping at Last**

 

The dark passages of Ravenhill were littered everywhere with bodies of slain Orcs.  Thranduil was desperate to find his son, his fear increasing as he looked down at all this death.  With each step he took, anxiety grew in his chest.  His heart began to pound, and thoughts raced through his mind with increasing speed.

_Where is he…Varda, please let him be alive… No no no... Please, do not take my son-_

He heard a step.  His eyes looked up from the ground, and there he was.  Thranduil’s knees nearly buckled from relief.  Legolas wasn't injured, and his face showed anguish and disappointment, but he was alive.  Alive!   When their eyes met, it was all he could do to keep from crying out from relief.  Something welled in his chest that had not been there for countless years; emotions this strong were unfamiliar to him now.

He stood still and gazed upon Legolas, unable to keep the relief from his face, unable to say the words that were pushing to get out.

“I cannot go back,” Legolas told his father, his gaze lowered, blue eyes full of sad resignation.

Thranduil had no valid argument to this. He knew his son had developed feelings for Tauriel, though he'd tried to prevent this, in his own, inept, way.  He could only guess what it must be like, to watch her cradle the body of the Dwarf she loved.

Thranduil didn’t want to lose his son, but His heart told him it was too late.  Anything that he could say now to his son, would fall upon deaf ears, and be regarded with suspicion. The distance between them had only grown wider, over the centuries since his wife’s death.  Legolas hardly regarded Thranduil as a father anymore, after too many years with no affection expressed between them.  Legolas had always shown respect and deference to him as his King, but even that had vanished, since the Dwarves had been captured in the Woodland Realm.

Legolas looked away from his father’s face and started to walk past him.

“Where will you go?” Thranduil asked.

“I do not know.”

_My son is leaving me... He is going away... Help me do something…help..._

Thranduil had a sudden inspiration. “Go North,” he suggested to Legolas, “Find the Dúnedain. There is a young Ranger amongst them. You should meet him.”

Legolas looked back to him, curious.

“His father, Arathorn, was a good man, his son might grow to be a great one,” said Thranduil.

“What is his name?”

“He is known in the wild as Strider. His true name, you must discover for yourself.”

Legolas gave the slightest of nods, and turned to walk away, head down. The sorrow in his son’s heart was palpable. This could have been prevented, had He done things differently.

Thranduil’s heart and thoughts raced: I could order him to stay as his King, but…I cannot.  I need to say something… Say something to him!  Now!  Do it!

“Legolas?” Thranduil called after his son, a hint of pleading in his voice.

The son stopped, but did not turn to face his father. Thranduil quickly searched himself for words to ease his son’s broken heart. Words that could offer him comfort; words that Legolas could hold on to, as he walked away from the life he knew.

“Your mother loved you," he said, softly.  "More than anyone. More than life.”

Legolas stood very still, absorbing those words. Turning slightly, he lowered his head, put his hand to his heart, then brought it from his chest and extended it toward his father, not meeting his eyes. Thranduil returned the salute, head bowed.

A sigh was heard, then fading footsteps, to be replaced by the sound of the winter wind.  Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of the Woodland Realm, was gone; possibly forever.  The Elvenking, so reputed to have a heart of pure ice, closed his eyes and lowered his head once again, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to escape.

He took several deep breaths, and once he felt calmer, the sound of weeping reached his ears. Tauriel's heart was breaking, and he knew he needed to go to her. She had accused him of not being capable of love, and to his shame, he’d hardly given her reason to think otherwise. Nonetheless, she needed someone now. Perhaps the Valar had arranged for that person to be him; he sensed he was at a crossroads, and things in his life, which had been stagnant for centuries, were about to shift, and change in ways he couldn't understand now.

He continued through the corridor, following the sounds of weeping, and came out onto the ledge to the mournful scene before him.  Tauriel was kneeling beside the Dwarf she had grown to love, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“They want to bury him,” Tauriel said.

“Yes.”

“If this is love, I do not want it.” Her eyes closed with utter anguish.  “Take it from me, please!”

He had no answer that would help her.  As much as he wanted to ease her suffering, it wasn't possible.  If he'd had that power, he could have saved himself centuries of agony at the loss of his wife.  But as soon as that thought occurred to him, he knew he'd never want that for himself — it would mean losing the love he still had for her.  And he also knew that Tauriel would not want to lose all memory of her love for Kili, either.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Tauriel sobbed, grasping at her chest, as if she was trying to pull her heart out of herself, taking the agony with it.

Thranduil gave her an honest reply, “Because…it was real.” And he could see that it was. There were no words of comfort he could give, no magic that would ease this kind of suffering.

It was unlikely she would fade from mourning; she and Kili had never been joined in marriage – they had never even had the chance to speak of their feelings.  Still the pain of _Rista-Goeol_ could affect her badly.  Tauriel’s strength, both physical, and mental, her character as the leader of his Guard made no difference in matters of sorrow.  He had seen elves that he perceived to be much stronger, slowly fade or leave for the Grey Havens from the profundity of sorrow his race was capable of feeling.

He tried to keep his face composed while he considered the possibility of losing Tauriel, as well as his son. She had grown up next to Legolas, and had been in Thranduil’s care since infancy, when her parents were murdered, like his wife, by Orcs. He knew he had not treated her as well has she deserved.

He knew it could have been so different…

He swallowed down his sentiment and watched the young Silvan, silently, intensely; his eyes stinging with regret and sorrow.

Tauriel, at Thranduil’s recognition of her emotions, looked up at him for several moments and held his gaze. He felt her search his eyes for sincerity in his words, and he allowed it.  After finding the assurance she needed, she gave a very small nod of her head.

She looked down at her Dwarf Prince, tears still flowing, but with a smile. She kissed Kili fondly, holding his gloved hand against her cheek, and seemed just a bit more prepared to bid her Dwarf goodbye. The look of determination on her face was not so hard to read: She was going to take what they felt for each other and use that memory as a reason to go on. For Kili. For what could have been. She will use her love as a source of strength, and live for him.

Thranduil watched the scene, wide-eyed with astonishment. How, he marveled, could this “lowly Silvan elf” as she had referred to herself just days ago (and he had let her, to his chagrin), have the strength to do, in a matter of hours, what he couldn't, even after hundreds of years!  Not for the first time today, he was humbled.

Presently, a small detail of Dwarves appeared with a litter, ready to take the body of their fallen comrade, with much sadness and honor.  Thranduil stepped aside, putting hand to heart and extending it, head bowed; showing respect for the dead Dwarf Prince, and for his companions.  One of the Dwarves, the one with the hat - familiar with Tauriel, it would seem – offered, in a soft and kindly voice, to allow Tauriel to accompany the body to Erebor.  She was astonished at the invitation, but the others nodded their agreement and approval, should she wish to go.

Tauriel looked up at her King, pleading in her eyes.

Thranduil nodded his assent, and with careful, loving hands, Kili’s lifeless form was placed on the litter. As they were leaving, Tauriel looked at Thranduil.

“Thank you, my Lord.” She put her hand to her heart and saluted him, then turned to find her place along the side of Kili, holding his hand. Weeping openly, the Dwarves slowly made their way through the corridors, and down from Ravenhill. For quite a while after they left the scene, their sobs could be heard.

Then there was silence, except for the wind.

Thranduil stood, frozen.

No. Not frozen.

Not anymore.  No longer was he the cold, remote, unapproachable, Sindarin King of the Woodland Realm.

He had been humbled.  No; he had been _humiliated_ \- and he'd deserved it.

Tauriel, Legolas, and even Mithrandir had forced him to search his heart, and clearly see, what he had allowed himself to become. It was a horrifying realization, to see how his lack of feeling had damaged himself, the people of his kingdom, and even the forest itself.  Worst of all, his distant, icy demeanor had destroyed what was most precious to him: his own son!  He'd pushed him away, and avoided the face that was so like his mother’s.  He had driven away his own son! He was mortified at what he had done.

This day was overwhelming, for many reasons.

~o0o~ 

 

> Earlier, Thranduil navigated the streets of Dale, taking in the horrific sight of bodies covering the ground, including his beloved elk.  He gazed upon the dead, unseeing eyes of his Elven army.  When he came across a small pool of red blood, with swirls of the foul, black Orc-blood, he felt the ground underneath him shift.
> 
> _Please, no... I cannot..._
> 
> It was Dagorland all over again.  It was the same sight of the ground carpeted in bodies and blood!   Panic rose in his chest as the horror threatened to overtake him, to stop his heart from beating.  He couldn’t breathe.  He had to stop all this death!  He didn’t just see the dead in Dale before him.  He was seeing and hearing the cries of agony on that plain before Mordor; he was smelling the stench of blood and decay, just as before.  He was there, and in the present, at the same time.  His eyes widened as all he could think of was stopping this destruction.
> 
> He'd ordered Feren to blow the horn and withdraw from this madness.  Then Tauriel appeared in his path, forcing his mind back to the present.
> 
> She'd been mistaken when she told him, at the point of an arrow, that he had no love in him; she couldn’t have been more wrong.  Yet, she was right to confront him with this, before he abandoned the good people of Dale and the Dwarves to their annihilation.  There were shock waves, like a kick to the gut when Legolas had stepped up, weapon drawn, forcing the point of his sword away from Tauriel’s throat.  The look of contempt and anger in Legolas’s, eyes at that moment had shaken him to his very core.  Though that confrontation took place in front of Thranduil’s troops, it was still the right thing to do, and he knew it, even then.
> 
> Remarkably, even though Legolas knew his hopes of a life with her would never come to pass, Thranduil watched as his son didn't hesitate to go with her to help save Kili.  Legolas had strength his father had never recognized.  Strength that Thranduil knew he himself, did not possess.  This compassion and determination was a quality that he'd loved about his wife, Mírelen.  This was yet another way that Legolas was so like his mother.
> 
> His Mírelen had lived on, in their son; she was still present, through her child, and he hadn't seen it.  He'd been too full of grief and anguish, to look deeply enough. Yet, there it was before him, and he could no longer avoid it.  And he realized, in that instant all he'd missed out on.
> 
> A voice was heard from Thranduil's right. “Those gems were not all that your wife left you, my friend.  She left you a son!  Tell me, which would she have you value more?”  The sharp reprimand came from some nearby steps of Dale’s ruins.  Thranduil, still in shock, turned his head sharply towards Mithrandir.
> 
> The Wizard had known his wife, and enjoyed seeing her when he visited their Halls.  He would bow low, kiss her hand, and shower her with flowery words about beauty and grace, which made her smile and laugh.  She had very much liked the Grey Wanderer, and he adored her.  When Mírelen had been killed, Mithrandir had come to the Palace for a while, to offer what comfort he could, but there was little that could help.  He talked to Thranduil over many weeks, in hopes he could help the Elvenking cope with this tragedy.  He was met with so much resistance, and loud, angry words, that Mithrandir, sadly, gave up, although he visited several times to keep an eye on him.
> 
>  Mithrandir’s reprimand was met with wide-eyed silence, as Thranduil realized the truth of his words. In the end, he said nothing; just stared at the Wizard intently.  He deserved those words, and they both knew it.  Thranduil searched the Wizard's deep blue eyes beneath those bushy, grey brows.  He looked for the same recrimination that had been in his son’s eyes,  but he found none.
> 
> There was anger and impatience, yes, but mostly, there was pity.
> 
> At the time, there was no chance to ponder what had just occurred.  He quickly rescinded his command to withdraw, and ordered the Elves to redouble their efforts.  They came to the aid of Dale and its people, and helped the Dwarves fight the Orcs, and helped to win the day.
> 
> Thank the Valar, the Eagles came just in time to head off most of the second Orc army that had been sent from Gundabad; grasping dozens of the foul creatures into their clutches and dropping them from high above, or dashing them against the rocks and cliffs; over and over.  Radagast was astride the Lord of the Eagles, and Thranduil had seen Beorn, the skin-changer, in his bear form.  No Orc was a match for that ferocious creature.  The tide had turned, then slowed down, then came to a stop. The Battle of the Five Armies, as it was later named, was finally, finally over.
> 
> ~o0o~

Now, standing alone above the field of battle, he saw the remnants of the Orcs routed and destroyed.  The combined efforts of Elves, Men and Dwarves, had fought off the forces of Sauron and the Free People of the North had prevailed. This time.

In the silence here, upon Ravenhill, thoughts he'd pushed to the back of his mind, surged forward.  His thoughts raced, memories of his words and deeds swirled into a dervish in his mind.

Thranduil’s breath started to come in short gasps.  Overcome, he viciously ripped off his gloves and threw them over the side of the cliff.  With trembling hands, he undid the clasps of his breastplate, and tore it from him, as if it were burning his flesh.  He frantically tore at the many pieces of his armor, removing them with desperate hands and tossing them aside with a roar of anger and anguish.

The mighty, King of the Woodland Realm, the only Elvenking on Middle Earth, and one of the world's greatest warriors, stumbled over to rest his forehead against the stone wall, panting. Eyes still closed, he turned and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the frozen ground.  He pulled up his legs, wrapped his arms around his knees, dropped his head and wept.

He wept for his people, whom he had failed.  He wept for all who died today, because his commands sent them to their deaths. He knew the names of every one of them.  He knew the names of their fathers, mothers, and wives, husbands and children.  He wept for them, because many would fade from grief.  He wept for Tauriel’s loss, and the sorrow he had caused her by dismissing what she felt, as insignificant.  He wept at the loss of his beloved father, once again.

He wept for himself at losing his wife, Mírelen, who died protecting their son, covering his little body with her own; a shield between her child, and the sword of the Orc who had raised it, to strike a fatal blow.  He wept for his wife, because she would still be alive, but he had failed her; he was seconds too late to save her.  Thranduil wept and keened as he thought of the sacrifice she'd willingly made to save their son, only to have her husband treat that act of bravery with fear; hiding behind this fortress around his heart.  He had disguised it as indifference and aloofness, and pulled away from everyone, making sure they kept their distance.

What had, at first, been a way of coping to keep from fading, was now a way of life.  He wept for the lies he told himself; that he was forever changed, and this is the way he had to be now.  He became so used to the lie, he had made it truth.

He wept because he knew he had robbed their son of his mother - first, by failing to save her, then, after her death, by banishing all reminders of her, even forbidding the mention of her name.  Most of all, he wept in despair over the loss of his son; made worse because he yet lived, but turned away thinking himself unloved.

Thranduil felt his glamour fall, exposing the wound that would never heal.  His face was now feeling the sharp needles of icy wind.  Physical agony was added to his anguish. _Good,_ he thought to himself.   _I_ _deserve_ _to_ _feel_   _pain, for all I caused in others._

He was all alone, because when one pushes love away often enough, it will turn around and leave, just as Legolas did. He was alone, and it was his own fault.

At that last thought, Thranduil lowered his head even further and wrapped his arms around his head, seeking shelter as his sobs overtook him more than he thought possible.  A dam had burst; the floodgates had been opened.  How to close them again, so he could be stoic and strong for his people? Thranduil had no idea.  He was at a loss as to what to do next, and in this moment, he did no longer cared.

After what seemed an eternity, his sobs slowly subsided, and he gradually began to calm himself. Weary beyond words, he just sat for a time, trying to slow his gasps; breathing in and out, in and out.  He was too exhausted to make sense of the tangle of emotions.  It was too much, too much. 

 _In and out, in and out,_ he breathed.

The cries of the Eagles filled the air, as they circled over the battle field, searching out what remained of the Orc army.  He heard the ravens; cawing as they flew, no doubt carrying messages for the Dwarves.  He heard the faint sounds of the Free Peoples below, as they began to sort through all that had happened today.

Mithrandir had been exactly right in his predictions; Thranduil should have listened, but he did not, and had influenced Bard into sharing his dismissal of the Wizard’s warnings.  He had failed Bard, who looked to him for help.  Bard was straining to cope with all burdens forced upon him, and he'd relied on the Elvenking’s judgement.  And his judgment, like many other things, had been flawed.  Thranduil's heart started to pound in his chest once again, and his breath quickened.  In and out. Breathe slowly, in and out…

He thought of Bard; a simple bargeman with no military training, leading a desperate, suffering rabble of holocaust survivors into battle.  The people of Laketown weren't prepared for the kind of fighting required of them.  Yet, there they stood - within the masses of his own well-trained army, equally determined to fight for their cause.  It would be easy to dismiss them as inferior, as naive fools, but Thranduil found he couldn't. 

They had stood tall and proud, with their makeshift weapons, in rags instead of armor - one man had even fashioned a laundry basket into a shield.  Several elves from his Army had done their best, to instill as much fighting skill in these men as possible.  Bard’s men, did their utmost to absorb what they could from their Elven comrades, with pride and courage to rival any of his soldiers.  These were a hardy and resourceful people. Thranduil had little doubt they would survive, and make the most of this victory.  With Bard as their leader, these folk would thrive and make Dale their home.

Bard... What to make of him?  He'd met the man six years before; only one short meeting. Bard worked for him on the Forest River, recovering his empty barrels of and delivering new ones twice a week.  Even then, he recognized the look, the bearing, and strength of his ancestor.  This man was the direct descendant of Girion, the last King of Dale; he was sure of it.  Thranduil had chosen, back then, not to speak of what he knew.  It had seemed tactless, to remind the rightful heir to the throne of Dale, that he had no kingdom, that this noble line had been reduced to a poor fisherman and bargeman, struggling to keep his family fed and warm.

When Smaug had awoken from his slumber, reports had come in that night: Esgaroth, the town on the Long Lake, was in flames.  The roar of the dragon could be heard for miles.  Thranduil immediately gave the order to start gathering food and supplies for the survivors.  Then, word came that Smaug was dead.  He had been killed with a Black arrow.  Instantly, Thranduil knew who had carried out the deed.

With the dragon dead, he had a chance to get his jewels back.  Upon his arrival in the ruins of Dale with the supplies, Bard’s face was the one he looked for among the survivors; he knew Bard would be the one in charge, to see his people to safety in the ruins after their town had been destroyed.

What Thranduil had seen back then, at their meeting on the river, and now, in the ruins of Dale, was a true leader.  It could be said it was in his blood, but Thranduil had seen too many heirs fall far short of their bloodlines.  Too many weak, greedy, men, whose only qualification was their birth, had risen to power, leaving disaster in their wake, such as Master of Laketown.  Thankfully, that slippery, greasy, man was dead.  Never again would Thranduil be subjected to that revolting man’s simpering lies or his cloying, phony words.  Good riddance to him, and that assistant of his.

He thought about the Dwarves.  Once again, the Gold Sickness brought destruction upon themselves and a city of innocent people.  He did hear that King Thorin somehow had overcome the curse which haunted his bloodline, and rallied himself along with the rest of his people; giving his life in the process.  Whatever he may have thought of Thorin, there was no doubt he died with honor, defending his people.  Thranduil would be a fool not to respect that.

On the ledge of Ravenhill, his thoughts kept turning to the Bowman. Thranduil couldn’t help but be intrigued by the man.  So much had been forced on Bard; yet he carried out this new responsibility without question, and worked tirelessly for his people. During the meetings with Bard in his tent, he'd insisted that Dale would only accept their fair share of Erebor’s treasure, and no more.  The Elvenking was astounded by this! Gold and power held no sway over this man, and governance exuded from him with each move he made, with every word out of his mouth.  He was a calm, soft-spoken, but strong man, not afraid to fight for his people.  There was no greed or thirst for power in him; just a deep love for his people.

When Thranduil searched those green-brown eyes, he saw no lie in them.  He wasn't surprised when Bard searched his own eyes, for the same reason.  Bard was not given to loyalty unless one earned it.  Good.  This would serve him well; it would make him an effective leader, and a just and fair King.  It wasn’t hard to see that Bard inherited all the best qualities of Girion, as well as his many ancestors before him.

The Elvenking had seen sadness in Bard's eyes, and, in turn, the Bowman recognized the sorrow in his own.  Without effort, the Bowman could see beyond Thranduil’s cold countenance, and know the truth of him.  What to do with that?  Right at this moment, Thranduil couldn’t say, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  It should make him feel exposed and uncomfortable, but he didn't; this was intriguing...

Thranduil’s thoughts turned to the Gems of Lasgalen.  When Thrór  first took possession of the Lonely Mountain, to re-establish Erebor, Thranduil had taken the broken pieces to the Dwarves, hoping to see it restored to its former glory.  Once today’s events settled a bit more, and all were ready to move forward, Thranduil stood a good chance of getting the necklace back; it was the key reason why he brought an army to the doorstep of Erebor.  He had convinced himself that having those gems restored, would somehow ease the tragedy of losing her.  What a foolish notion!  Mithrandir’s words had sliced that idea, to shreds, and rightly so. 

His wife loved the necklace, but would have gladly cast away an entire mountain of gems, if it meant saving the ones she loved.  Mírelen _knew_ how to love; it flowed so naturally and freely from her. Her family, her people were her treasure. Thranduil and Legolas were the real gems of her life.  No matter how beautiful or valuable that necklace was, it didn't have the power to ease a broken heart.  No gem in Middle Earth could restore a broken life. 

In these recent days, many things had come full circle.  The Heir of Girion had finished the task that his ancestor had started.  His Black Arrow, the last of its kind, hit the exact place where Girion’s arrow had broken the scale on Smaug, and killed him.  The Dragons of Middle Earth were no more.  Dale will be rebuilt, and the Three Northern Kingdoms will, with much diplomacy on the Dwarves part, and even more patience and tolerance on Thranduil’s part, become allies, like they used to be.  This must happen; it was the only way the North will hold.

Mithrandir was, again, correct in his assessment that Sauron was hoping to weaken or even destroy the defenses of the Northern Realms.  Thranduil’s foresight told him that this will not be the only battle between these realms and Sauron’s forces.  The next great battle, possibly merely decades in the future, will be worse; it will be the Final War that will decide the fate of Middle Earth, once and for all.  It was essential that these alliances take place, gain strength, and remain stable.

But those were thoughts for another day.  As he calmed down, he concentrated, then felt his glamour return, to cover and protect his exposed face, and he felt the relief from pain.  He closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall. 

Just for a short while, Thranduil didn’t want to think like a King. He didn’t want to think at all.  He wanted to stay here, for now, and just be Thranduil, the son, the father, the widower, an ordinary Elf, for Valar’s sake!  For a few more moments, he wanted to be, without all the noise, without distractions pulling at him from all directions--

“My Lord Thranduil?”

He opened his eyes and looked to his left, to see Feren, Commander of his Military forces, standing in the doorway, with concern in his eyes, but respect on his face.

“Are you injured, Sire? Do you need assistance, or a healer?” he asked.

“No, I do not. Take my armor to my tent for now. I will be there presently."

“As you wish, My Lord. I will have Galion lay out your supplies for you.”

“That will be fine. Thank you Feren”

Feren picked up the pieces of armor.  He knew his King preferred to clean and care for it personally, so this wasn’t an unusual order.  The Commander pointedly refused to notice Thranduil's swollen, red-rimmed eyes.  Feren had known Thranduil since childhood, and had he fought beside his King for thousands of years.  Feren was always vigilant, ready to throw himself between Thranduil and danger, even at the cost of his own life. He loved this King, who was also his friend, and he would protect his liege in every way possible.  Thranduil clearly needed solitude, and he would make sure he was granted this.

After Feren’s departure, the Elvenking closed his eyes again for several long moments; reveling in the quiet.  He would not be blessed with such a lack of noise for the foreseeable future; there was so much to be done.  He wanted to make the most of the silence, while he still could.

At length, he sighed, and got to his feet.  He brushed the snow off his clothes, wiped his eyes and nose with the silken kerchief he always kept in his pocket.  He rubbed snow into his face to soothe the sting around his eyes from his tears, and to wash off the remnants of anguish, plus dirt or blood that might be there.

He sighed once more, then reluctantly turned toward the doorways of Ravenhill, to make his way down to the ruins of Dale, where his tent, his army, his duty, awaited him.

The ordinary Thranduil was gone. It was time to be a King, again.

 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

**_Rista-Goeol_** – “Terrible Severing” The pain from losing a bond-mate.  If this happens after they are married, after their _fëas_ become one, it can be a dangerous thing; the spouse will often need to sail, to keep from fading, or, if they stay, he or she will feel the hollow place forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the characters featured in Tolkien's works. I make no profit from my stories; it is simply a loving tribute to my affection for this universe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard fights himself into sheer exhaustion for his family, and for his people, but the Orcs just keep on coming. Are his children safe?
> 
> Here is another POV of the Battle of the Five Armies, and its gruesome aftermath. Even though the fighting is done, there will be long, sad struggle ahead to get past it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For frame of reference purposes, Sigrid is 15, Bain is 13, and little Tilda is 7. Also, Charlotte is 4. Who is Charlotte, you may ask? Read and find out... ;-D
> 
> And don't forget to check out the wonderful illustrations for this Chapter, done by my talented friend, [tumblr](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/>Creepy%20Scientist</a>!!!%20%20Her%20blog%20on%20<a%20=href=) is full of wonderful drawings of your favorite ship and mine. If you love Barduil as much as I do, you'll adore her "30 days of Barduil" series!

 

 

Bard fought on and on and on.  He wouldn't stop until each of those cursed Orcs was dead.  He knew his men were tired.  He knew he himself, was on the brink of exhaustion.  Yet, he couldn't allow himself to stop.  He was their leader, and a true leader set the example, led his armies from the front, and wouldn't send others to dangers he wasn't willing to face himself.

And _where_ , for all the Valar, had the Elves disappeared to, before re-entering the Battle?

After the Eagles came, bringing Radagast and Beorn with them, he knew they stood the chance of victory.  He saw Beorn’s creature devour the Orcs, breaking their bodies with a toss of its head, a swipe of its paw, chomping them with its mouth and spitting out the now-lifeless bodies with their foul taste.  The Eagles had first dispatched with the Trolls, easily clutching them and throwing them against the side of the mountain, then scooping up the Orcs, several at a time, giving them the same, effective treatment.

Childhood legends were present at this Battle, and it seemed surreal to Bard that the stories he had heard were all true.  If the circumstances weren’t so dire, he would marvel at this.  But he could spare no time.  His city, his people, needed him to lead them to victory, or die in the attempt.  He'd challenged his men to be willing to give their last, and _not_ _one_ hesitated to fight!  He even saw women and older folk amongst the fighters.  Didn’t he give the order them to be locked in the Great Hall?  Had the Hall fallen to the enemy?  Oh, gods--his children were there!  

_Please, please let my children be safe. I can’t lose them, I just can’t…  Please, Valar, by all that is sacred in this world, don’t take them from me…_

It occurred to Bard that every parent on the field was praying the same thing. and he knew not all would be answered.

At long last, the Battle slowed, and was over.  The Elves, Dwarves, Eagles, and Beorn were scouring the valley for remnants of the Orc army.  Bard finally wiped the blood off his sword, put it in its scabbard.  He bent over, panting, as Percy, his second-in-command, made his way over to him.

“You’re alive, Bard! Thank the Stars above!"  Percy threw his arms around his friend.  Their embrace lasted for several moments; using each other to lean on, to rest.

“Valar, it’s good to see you, Percy!  Are you injured?”  He pulled back and looked the older man up and down earnestly.

“I seem to be in one piece; just a few nicks and scrapes.  Have you seen that wife of mine?  Last I knew, she was with the others in the Great Hall, then I spied that stubborn woman, yonder,  _fighting off those fucking Orcs_!  When I get my hands on her, I don’t know whether to hug her or throttle her!”

“Aye, I saw her too, Pers.  I know just as much as you about it.  I need to find out what happened at the Great Hall.  For now, have the men go through the town to find all the injured and get them to the Healer’s tents right away.  Tell them to make sure all the Orcs on the ground are truly _dead_.  They can dispatch _that_ order any way they wish.”  The last command was given with Bard’s mouth in a grim, angry line.  “Then, go find that wife of yours!”  Bard knew that if – no, when – Hilda was found among the living, Percy’s threats were groundless.  Those two were devoted one another.

“Aye, I’ll do that.  I daresay the Elves have already been searching for the living, though.  I imagine they're doing the same with what Orcs they find.”

“If that’s the case, then tell the men they can volunteer for the task, if they wish.  We all need rest.  The elves have more stamina than we do, and there are more of them.  I’ve got to go find my family.”

Percy could see the fear in his Commander's eyes.  He put his hand on Bard's shoulder.  “Don’t worry, my boy.  You’ll find them, and they'll be fine.  Go!”

Bard hardly needed the encouragement.  He left Percy to carry out his orders and quickly made his way down Stone Street.

The children.  He had to find them.  Now.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he searched the streets, looking, calling out their names.  As he made his way through the ruins, he couldn’t find the courage to look closely at the dead bodies.  Not yet.  He kept his eyes up, his jaw set firmly.  If Sigrid, Bain and Tilda weren’t found, only then would he lower his gaze to the fallen.  He'd keep his eyes up and forward, for as long as possible.

He checked the tents the Elves had set up, to treat the wounded.  Elves, Dwarves and Humans were frantically working side by side to help those who needed attention.  Everyone worked valiantly alongside their allies to see to the overwhelming numbers of victims.  Those untrained in the Healing arts were helping as well, by boiling cloth for bandages, providing blankets to keep the injured warm, cleaning up the blood, and even performing the grim task disposing of amputated limbs. There were some sitting at the bedsides, sponging faces and offering a hand to hold.  Despite Bard’s anxiety, he was pleased at the sight.  He was grateful he didn’t see his children among them. 

That meant either they were alive and whole, or-

No.  Just No.

He continued his search through the streets and reached the Market Square.

Oh, gods; there they were! At the ruins of the carousel, Bain was sitting, sword across his knees, ready to protect his sisters.  To his left, Sigrid was holding Tilda in her lap, stroking her hair as the child hid her face into her sister’s chest.  The older ones were staring ahead with unseeing eyes, still in shock from all the violence and bloodshed. His babies were alive. 

_Thank you thank you thank you..._

Heaving a sigh, that came out as a sob, Bard dropped to his knees.  Tears mingled with the dirt on his face as he tried calling out to them, but his voice was too shaky and breathy.  He tried to go to them, but his legs were jelly; he was unable to get up.  Again, he attempted to say their names; he could barely get the words out, his chest was heaving so hard… 

Bain, hearing the faint sounds, turned to look.  As recognition filled his face, the boy stood up slowly, afraid his eyes were playing tricks, that his Da was dead, and they were all alone in the world…

But there he was.  He was truly there.  He was nearly collapsed with exhaustion, but their father had come for them at last.

Bain found his voice, and screamed, “DA! DA!”  He dropped his sword and flew over to Bard, who grabbed him and held him so tight, it pushed the air out of his lungs.  Bain didn’t care.  His Da had found them.  

Sigrid, looking up at Bain’s cry, stood Tilda upright.  Grabbing her sister’s hand, she hurried to them, knocking father and son over in their attempts to get their arms around each other, as Bard did his best to gather all his children to him.

Holding onto each other for dear life, they found a way to sit up as a group; still crying hard, still clinging to each other.  Bard buried his face into his oldest daughter’s hair, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down, so he could calm them down.  It took several minutes before anyone was able to speak. 

Then they all started to talk at once.

“Oh, Da, I was so afraid!” Sigrid sobbed.  “I tried to be strong for Bain and Tilda, but I c-couldn’t help it.  I was so scared!  It was j-just so awful!” Sigrid hiccupped, wiping the tears from her face.

“I did my best to protect them, like you wanted, Da.  I did my best, but I was so....  What would we do if you died?” said Bain, his sobs starting all over again.

“I’m so proud of you.  You were all so brave.  We did it!  Got rid of the Orcs and you’re all safe now.  It’s over.  It’s over.  Please don’t cry, you’re safe.”  The last statement was ironic, as Bard’s own tears didn’t seem to want to stop.

Tilda said nothing, just buried herself in her Da’s chest, hiding her face in his shirt, with her little arms around his waist.

“We’re safe now.  It’s all right,” was all Bard could say at this point, sothat’s what he did.  He said the words to them, over and over and over.  He said it until they all started to settle down, to help their hearts stop pounding, to help them, especially himself, understand the danger had passed.  

He said it again, to make sure his family knew they had survived and they were _together_.

Finally, they cried themselves out and their breathing was calming down.

“Are you warm enough?  Have you eaten?” asked Bard, wiping his eyes on a sleeve.

“Tilda was shivering, so I gave her my coat to wrap up in,” Bain told his father.

“Good man.  Now, tell me, what happened at the Great Hall?”

“After some of the men and women in the Hall joined the fight, I found a corner for us to hide in." Bain told him.  "It was just as well, Da. After we left, a Troll started to break in."

Bard felt Tilda press her face a bit harder into him.  He wrapped his arm a bit tighter around her and stroked her hair. 

“It ripped door open, then an Eagle came down and took it away.”  Bain finished, looking down at Tilda, and said no more.

“Thank you, Bain.  You were very brave.” Bard stroked through Bain's dark, wavy hair.  “I'm so proud of you.” he said, once again.  He didn’t care how many times he repeated it.  He held all his babies in his arms, kissing Sigrid on the forehead, and Tilda’s hair.  He took deep breaths, immersing himself in the scent of them, the feel of them all warming each other, both outside and in.

"Let's see where we can find something to eat, yeah?  We’ll need blankets too.  Bain, I’m proud of you for making sure Tilda was warm, but now you need to take care of yourself." Bard told his son. "Let’s go find a warm fire, yeah? Come on, then.  Once we get some food in our bellies, we'll feel a lot better, won’t we?” 

His older two spoke agreement, and Tilda said nothing, just held her face against his chest.

They stood up to make ready to walk.  Bard gave Bain his coat back and, after removing his chain mail, put his own coat back on, picked his youngest up, and held her to himself, wrapping it around her.  His mail lay in a heap on the ground, but he would send someone to get it later. 

“There now, that’s much better, isn’t it?”  Tilda just looked at him with a somber, unfocused look, before laying her head on his shoulder, arms around his neck and her little legs wrapped around his waist.

“Ready gang?  Let’s go then, shall we?  Tilda, turn your head towards my neck, and close your eyes, darling.  That’s good.”  He didn’t want his baby to see the carnage at their feet.  To the older ones, he said, "Get right behind me, and stay close.  Try not to look down; just follow my footsteps, can you do that for me?" 

He decided one of the first things that needed to be done, was to provide an area for the surviving children to gather away from ALL of this.  So many little eyes had seen too much; all the children of the Lake had seen unspeakable horror, and they needed to be spared the sights and smells of the cleanup.  Maybe the Elvenking could help with this.  He’d make sure to ask him when he saw him.  To be honest, he knew there was much to discuss with Lord Thranduil, as well as the New King Under the Mountain, whoever he turned out to be.

But all that would have to wait. For now, and the rest of this day, he was not a Dragonslayer, Commander, Bowman, or even a Bargeman.  He was a _father_.  The sun would be setting soon, and needed to see to his family.  Bard would find healing in that.

After searching a bit more around the town, he found a large fire with logs set up around it, near the outskirts of the city.  Food was being served by the Elves for anyone who wished to partake.  Bard saw there were several such fires in the area, which was good news; his people needed warmth and food.  It was a consideration he hadn't expected to see, and he was thankful his people could be warmed and fed.

Bard and his family stepped closer to the fire, and found seats on one of the logs.  The heat felt soothing, and they held their fingers out, to warm them. Off to the side of the fire, he saw stew had been cooked for everyone. Bard gently put Tilda down, with Bain beside her, and he and Sigrid walked over to where the food was being dished out.  A dark-haired elf was serving them up with a smile, while conversing with Hilda.  Bard grinned at her, and she smiled back, never stopping the flow of words to the Elf.

Good old Hilda; may the all the Valar bless her and Percy, for all they'd done for his family in Laketown.  She watched his children when they needed it, helped them if they were sick, and was sly and cunning when distracting Braga and the rest of the Master’s minions.  Bard had smuggled in extra food and supplies for their people when he could, and Percy and Hilda were his best co-conspirators in getting the things past Alfrid and the guards. A real organizer, that woman.

Here she was, alive and, it would seem, well.  She had always been a force to be reckoned with; if it was possible to rebuild the city of Dale, he'd need her and as many folk like her as he could.

Percy was sitting at the far side of the circle of logs, holding a bowl for Old Ben, whose arm was in a sling, so he could eat.  His children will be glad to see them. They adored the older couple, and the feeling was mutual.

As Bard and Sigrid brought the bowls of hot venison stew over to the rest of the family, and sat down, Percy looked up from Old Ben and saw Bard and the children.

“Well now, here we are,” Percy said with a smile, “That brood of yours is a sight for sore eyes!  Did Hilda see you yet?  She was looking for you all, worried sick.”

“Aye, Hilda saw us, and I was glad to see her right back.” returned Bard.  “I suppose you gave your wife a good shaking, when you found her?”

“I decided there were better things to do.” Percy gave him a wink.

Bard smirked. "I'll bet you did."

“You kids get yourselves warm and put that grub in your gullets as soon as you can.” Percy continued, “It helps.  Hilda’s been educating our Elvish cook there, on the right way to spice up this stew.  If he listened to her proper, as well he should, you’ll find nothing to complain about.”

Bard smiled.  Hilda was not only well-known for her excellent cooking, she was famous (or, perhaps, infamous) for her outspoken nature.  If ever there was a woman who could make the most of what little food was available, it was Percy’s firebrand of a wife.  He took a spoonful of stew and put it in his mouth.

It was delicious.  She’d done it again.  At this point, he was so exhausted and hungry from the day, he would eat _anything_  put in front of him without complaint, but to have such hot, tasty food, after all of this, was an added comfort.

He looked to either side of him to make sure the children were also eating.  Sigrid was consuming her dinner with relish.  Bain, always hungry at the best of times, was practically face-down in his food, as if he was going to eat the bowl itself as soon as his dinner was gone.

Tilda, however wasn’t eating.  She just looked down at her bowl and stared. 

“Come on, darling, eat up, yeah?  It’s very good.”  He took her spoon, put a little bit of stew to her mouth.  “Sweetheart, you’ll feel so much better when you’ve had a warm meal, I promise.” She took a bite.  “See? Isn’t that better? I told you it was good.  Auntie Hil helped make it, so you know it'll be first-rate, won’t it?”

At the mention of Hilda’s name, Tilda looked up at her Da, her eyes widening.  She looked around her, suddenly more aware of her surroundings, and looked for the older woman.  Hilda was still standing with the Elven cook, chatting.  At the sight of her, Tilda got up, set her bowl down, and slowly stepped around the fire towards her.  Noting the movement out of the corner of her eye, Hilda laid eyes on the child.  With a cry and open arms, she stooped to catch the child up into her arms with a whoop just as if they were all back in Laketown and the dragon had never come.

“Now then, there’s my little Beanie!  Where have _you_ been hiding?” She said, smiling at the little face.  “Give your Auntie Hil a hug!”  It was what she always said to the girl when she saw her. Before three words were out of her mouth Tilda had already wrapped her little arms around the woman’s neck and buried her face in it.  Everyone around the fire smiled at the sight of the two of them, Bard, most of all.  He needed the comfort of a familiar face, and words he’d heard countless times.  It was a little bit of home; a reminder that there still was much to be thankful for, amidst all this death and destruction.  He swallowed hard, eyes stinging, at the scene before him; his dinner, for the moment, forgotten.  Hilda was the closest thing to a mother Tilda had, and she and Percy were as dear to him as his parents had been.

Bard sat on the log, next to Sigrid and Bain, and watched his friend with his baby girl.  _Their_ baby girl.  Hilda and Percy may not be blood, but they were family, nonetheless.  They were kind and generous, and they took Bard and his family into their hearts, refusing to let go.

When Hilda looked over Tilda’s shoulders at Bard, he held up her uneaten bowl of stew. 

“Now, what’s this, Little Bean?  Haven’t you eaten?  Come on, lovey, Auntie Hil will make sure we get some of this good food in you, hmmm?”  Tilda raised her head to look at her, still not speaking, and barely nodded her head.  “Here, let’s sit you down with Uncle Percy; that’s it, and let’s make sure our Beanie has plenty to eat so she can grow!  How about that, yeah?”  Then she walked to Bard, retrieved Tilda’s dinner, and managed, with much cajoling and coos and kisses on her hair, to get the little one to eat until her stomach was full.

~o0o~

> Tilda had been a quiet and easy baby; she hardly cried, which was a mercy granted to the remains of their grieving little family.  Her mother, Mattie had died at her birth, leaving Bard bereft, and in over his head, when it came to caring for the children on his own.   Hilda, along with Percy, were a blessing.  She located another new mother in Laketown, to wet-nurse, until Tilda was able to take bottles of goat milk.  Hilda was at the house almost daily, helping the overwhelmed father with things his wife had always taken care of. 
> 
> Percy spent time with the older ones when he could, and was a pillar of strength for Bard to lean on.  He would take Bard out on the lake to get some air, some space, and some privacy while he came to grips with this sudden new reality.  Percy listened while Bard spoke, when he cried, and even when he screamed with fury, cursing anything he could think of to show his outrage that Mattie was gone, would never see her children again, and would never grow old beside him.  And each time, when he was spent, he felt Percy’s hands on his shoulders, offering silent comfort and strength.
> 
> As Tilda and her siblings grew, Hilda became a mother figure to all of them.  When Bard got the job of transporting the Elvenking’s wine barrels, it meant overnight trips up the Forest River twice a week. There was no question of who would care of the children; Hilda was insulted to even be asked. 
> 
> “How could you think _for one minute_  we wouldn’t look after the little ones?”  She poked a finger in his chest.   “Just worry about getting yourself on that boat of yours in plenty of time.  That’s what _you_ need to be thinking on.  Leave the rest to me,” she ordered him with her usual sharp, but loving, tongue.
> 
> When Sigrid grew into her teens, she wanted to act the mother of the house.  She felt it was her duty, and as much as Bard hated the idea, he really needed the help.  Auntie Hil would only allow this notion to a certain point, though.  She'd show up at the house on the occasional morning, and, with a kiss to girl’s forehead, turn Sigrid around and shove her out the door.  “Off with you now! Go play with your friends and be a young girl.”
> 
> Bain hero-worshipped Uncle Percy, and loved to join him out on the Long Lake.  On his last birthday, he gave Bain a small knife, so he could learn how to whittle.  “We menfolk need to stick together," Percy would say, with his arm around the boy.

~o0o~

After the bowls were empty, Bard gathered them up and took them back  to the Elf, and thanked him for the food and the attention given to his people and their comfort.  The elf bowed his head, saluting him.  “I am honored at your thanks, Lord Bard.”  Bard still flinched when referred to by the title they bestowed upon him.  Feeling a bit awkward, he nodded and turned to return to his family.

“Lord Bard?”  Wincing, Bard turned in direction of the speaker.  Another elf, again with dark hair and but this one had deep blue eyes. Galion was his name, he recalled; he served the Elvenking as his Aide.

“Yes?” 

“Forgive me for disturbing your meal, but Lord Thranduil has arranged for a tent to house you and your family.  He has requested it be near his camp, as it will be convenient for the meetings to take place soon, but he leaves the final decision to you.”

Bard was taken aback at this, but he also felt relief.  In all the frenzy of this day, he hadn’t thought about where he and his family would sleep.  The corner of the building they had been staying in had been destroyed by one of the trolls. 

“I'm grateful, but I should stay near my people, if that would be agreeable to your King.”  He hoped it would be.  He and the children needed a safe place to rest; if the King insisted on deciding where their temporary home would be set up, there was little Bard could say about it.

Galion was ready with his reply.  “King Thranduil has already considered this possibility.  I have been ordered to place your things where you think best.  In addition, King Thranduil will be placing guards around your camp, so your people can rest in safety.  Two guards will be placed outside of your tent as well.”  Bard opened his mouth to protest at that last piece of information, then closed it.  Galion was merely following orders, and Bard was too weary to argue.

“Thank you, Galion.” Bard told the elf.  “My children and I are still getting warm.  We'll be here for a while longer.”

A small smile appeared on Galion’s face.

“Of course, My Lord.” _Again_ with the title.  “Once things are made ready, someone will be sent to escort you to your quarters.”

“That sounds just fine, Galion.  Cheers.”

Bard returned to his family, and sat for a while, staring into the flames.  He looked over at Sigrid, to see if she was all right.  She looked tired, but seemed determined to keep her composure.  She took after her Mam, that one, both in looks and in her ways.  Bain was practically asleep in his seat, so he his arm around him and urged the boy to lean on him.  He'd become a man far faster than Bard ever wanted for him, but he'd pushed through his fear and did his best.  Bard was never so proud of his son as he was on this night.

He reminded himself to take another look at the wound across Bain’s chest, left by the string of the makeshift bow used to sink his Black Arrow into the Dragon's heart.  After the Elves arrived in Dale three weeks ago, he’d taken his son to see their Healers, who had cleaned the wound and applied some salve and a bandage.  At first, Bain had tried to hide it from him, but Bard caught him wincing a few times and demanded to know why.  When Bain opened his shirt, Bard winced at sight.  Bain, being Bain, just grinned.

> _“No worries, Da!  If anybody doesn't believe I helped you kill the Dragon, I can prove it!”_

Bard looked over at Tilda, still seated between Hilda and Percy.  She had not uttered a word since he'd found them, but she seemed slightly more relaxed.  After she'd grown out of her infant years into a little girl, she'd always been cheerful, and a bit quiet.  She was a bit shy, and took a bit of time to get used to new people and things, but tonight, in front of the fire, his daughter was different.  The child was hiding inside of herself, and he wasn’t sure how they would draw her back out. She'd she had a decent meal in her, and allowed herself to be held; it was a good sign, but she was far from all right.

“Tilda?  Little Bean?” The little girl tipped her head back to look up at Hilda.  “Where is Charlotte, the dolly I made for you for your birthday?” 

This question startled Bard.  He didn’t even notice the toy was gone.  

For almost four years, that doll went everywhere with her.  Since Tilda’s third birthday, the stuffed doll with red, woolen hair had been her constant companion.  On the few occasions that Charlotte had been misplaced, Tilda would howl at the top of her lungs, while her family scrambled frantically, to find the doll and place it her arms. She had been holding the doll tightly when he first saw her and Sigrid on the shores of the Lake, the morning after the attack. She never let go, during weeks after the Elves came, bringing food, blankets, tents, and medicines.  The morning of the March on Erebor, as he kissed the kids goodbye, telling them not to be afraid, this would be over in a few hours, Tilda's doll was in her arms, clutched even tighter.

“Tilda,” he said softly.  Bard got up and walked around the fire to squat in front of her.  “Can you tell me what happened to Charlotte?”  Tilda looked at her father and gave him a blank stare for a few minutes.  Then she opened her mouth to speak, her voice just above a whisper.

“I threw her away, Da. She got blood on her and I couldn’t see her face anymore.”  Tilda, numb and emotionless, looked at him with dry eyes.  _Oh, Valar_ …the sight of that was much worse than tears; crying would have been good for her.  This _nothingness_ was agony to see.

Bard took his baby girl into his arms, furious at the world for doing this to her.  Furious at the Master for keeping them in such poverty.  Furious at the Dwarves, and the Dragon.  Furious at anything and everything that kept his children from being safe and happy, and furious with himself; because he couldn't prevent any of it.

Bard looked at Hilda, feeling helpless.  He’d no idea how he could make this up to Tilda, or any of his them. Blinking back her own tears, Hilda reached out and gathered the girl into her lap, and began to rock her with a soothing song, sung to children in Laketown for generations.  She gave Bard a nod and sharply inclined her head towards the outside of the gathering.  Bard needed some time alone, and as usual, she realized it before he did.  Her look ordered him to take a walk to settle himself.  Percy went over to take Bard’s place between the older children, and gathered them to him with a reassuring smile.

Bard stood and strode away from the warmth and light, into the evening darkness.

What no one around the fire knew, was that the Elvenking had been standing a short distance away, in the shadows of the ruins.  His sharp eyesight and Elven hearing took in everything that had occurred concerning the Bowman and his family.

Bard wandered for some minutes, hoping to calm the pounding in his heart, and his short, shallow breaths.  He found himself by a great stone wall - Girion’s castle.  It was in ruins, just like everything here was in ruins, and the survivors of Laketown were looking to him, expecting him bring it all back to life again!  He had no clue how to do that, yet if he didn't find a way, there would be more suffering, more death.

He wasn’t crying, yet tears flooded his face, flowing into his mustache and beard.  He felt the handle of his sword, hanging from his belt, and drew it out of its scabbard. He stared intensely at the sharp blade, shining brightly even though the moon was covered with clouds. 

He’d handled a sword occasionally before this, but he was a bowman, not a swordsman.  Even after today, it felt foreign in his hand.  He hated it.  He hated what he was forced to do with it: dealing out death after death, hours on end.  Never before this had he taken a life, but in a matter of hours, he must have dealt a killing blow dozens of times with it. Those filthy Orcs deserved to die, but it was hard to reconcile that _he_ was the one to make it happen.

He was no military leader.  He was no killer - he was a Bargeman, a bowman, a fisherman. He was a father, not a soldier.  He never imagined he would be forced into the position of leading others into battle; leading people he’d known all his life, knowing he sent many to their deaths.  How could he live with that?

Taking the handle in both hands, he struck the sword against the wall, again and again, cursing it and all that forced him to wield it.  Between gritted teeth, he let fly a stream of profanity; words he hoped would never reach his children’s ears.  Swearing, sweating, and grunting with the effort, he continued to punish both the sword and the wall until he exhausted himself. 

Finally, he lowered his arms and threw it down, panting.  He leaned his forehead on the  cold surface of the wall, soothing his hot, sweaty face, until his breaths came at a slower, deeper pace.  He turned, leaned against the stone, slid down to sit, and stared at the ground.

After a few minutes, grey boots soundlessly appeared before him.

“I doubt that sword will be serviceable after this,” said a familiar, arrogant, baritone voice.

Bard tracked the owner of the voice; up the legs, torso, shoulders, and, finally, to the face of the Elvenking.  Their eyes met, but Bard could find nothing to say.

“You are past exhaustion, Bard, and you should get some rest.”  Thranduil reached out his hand and the Bowman took it, standing him up.

“I will take you to your tent; you need a wash and a bed.” Bard felt too weary to argue with him.  He turned towards the direction of the fire to gather the children.

“They will be fine, Bard.  I will send Tauriel for them in a short while.  She will bring them when you have settled yourself.”

He nodded, and Thranduil placed a hand on his shoulder.  "Come," and steered him in the direction of the Laketown survivor’s campsite.  Presently, they reached what apparently was Bard’s quarters.  The tent was the same style as the Elvenking, but just a bit smaller, and two Elven guards were stationed at the entrance. 

Bard opened his mouth to protest at this, but Thranduil raised his hand, “It is necessary.  We have much to discuss, about this and many other things, but for now, please, I ask you to trust me on this matter.”  He turned to one of the guards, speaking in Elvish, who saluted his King and left.  He then turned back to Bard, “I have instructed him to go tell the children to wait for Tauriel, and both of them are to escort them back to your tent, when you are ready,” he reassured him.

The remaining guard lifted the flap at the entrance for them, and they walked inside.  Bard saw that a brazier had been lit, warming the shelter.   Ahead, behind a partition that had been folded open, four cots had been set up, complete with warm blankets and soft pillows.  Neatly-folded clothing had been placed on stools at the foot of each bed; for him and the children.  To the left of the entrance was a table with chairs, a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of water.  On the right was a curtained-off area, which, upon inspection, held a table with a large bowl with a pitcher, a wooden commode chair with a lid, and there was a tub for bathing.  The last had been filled with hot, steaming water, waiting for him.  Soap, a linen cloth for drying, and a clean clothes were folded neatly on the nearby table.  A wonderful, soothing scent was coming from the water.  Bard inhaled deeply.

“What you smell is _Athelas_ , which you know as Kingsfoil.  It will relax you and help with cuts, bruises and soreness.  Please, get in, while the water is still hot.”  Thranduil looked at him expectantly.

The Elvenking didn't leave, which made Bard a bit uncomfortable.  “Uh... I can do this myself, thanks.”

“Under other circumstances, I would agree with you.  But your muscles are seizing up from all you did today.  I've noticed your movement become increasingly stiff as we made our way here.  I am sorry, but just for this evening, you are going to need some help.  It will either be me, or one of the guards outside.  You may make your choice.”

Heaving a sigh, Bard allowed Thranduil’s assistance in removing his clothes.  As it turned out, the elf was right about Bard’s limited movement.  When he tried to raise his arms, he found it was nearly impossible.  And bending over to remove his boots _was_ impossible.  Shit, he was hurting!  Thranduil, nonplussed at seeing the Lakeman in his altogether, helped him step into the fragrant, steaming bath, and eased him down. 

Eyes closed, he sank into the water up to his neck, and leaned back with a heavy sigh.  It felt _wonderful_.  Then a disturbing thought occurred to Bard, and his eyes suddenly opened wide.

“ _Please_ tell me you don’t plan to wash me!” came out of his mouth, before he could stop the words.

A short laugh from the Elf.  “No, I do not.  The _Athelas_ will soothe and loosen you up quite nicely, if you sit in it for a while, and you will be able to take care of things yourself.  Then, I strongly suggest you get into bed and rest.  Your children will be along once you are finished.”  With that, he turned to leave.

“Lord Thranduil?”

The Elvenking glanced back over his shoulder, to meet his eyes.

“Thank you for this.”

Thranduil turned to face him, once more.

“My motives aren’t entirely altruistic.  I need you well-rested and fit.  There is much to do, and we have much to settle, before negotiations start with the Dwarves.”

“I still need to show gratitude on behalf of my people.  We wouldn’t have survived any of this without your help.  You really did save us.”

“Nonsense.  You Lakemen are resourceful and resilient.  Besides, as told you: I merely came here to get my necklace.”  Thranduil said with a small smile on his face, lifting a dark brow.

“You may say those words as often as you like, My Lord, but I'll never fully believe you.” Bard said with a grin.  With that, he lowered his head under the water.

When he surfaced again, the King was gone.  He was right about the healing herbs.  Bard soaked in tired bliss while they worked their magic and, eventually, his aches and pains were eased.  Then Bard washed himself and his hair thoroughly.  After drying, he changed into clean clothes, and lay down on his cot, on the far left.  His plan was to wait for his children to arrive, but, seconds after his head touched the feathered pillow, he was fast asleep.

 

****************

 

The King of the Woodland Realm made his way through the darkened streets of Dale toward his own quarters.  He didn’t tell Bard he planned to wait outside, and, when he heard the Lakeman lie down, place a _losta-luith_ over him, to send him into a deep, dreamless sleep.  He smiled, remembering Bard's embarrassment at his nakedness in front of the Elvenking.  Elves had little qualms regarding this sort of thing, but Men tended to be a bit shy.  Bard’s body, even covered in nicks and bruises, was powerful, and muscular.  Years of hard work had shaped and sculpted his body to perfection.   _Bard_ _was_ _beautiful_...  Thranduil was reluctant to admit he found that last thought unsettling.

Earlier, after Thranduil had finally returned from Ravenhill, he'd wandered through the shadowy ruins of Dale for a long while, still feeling the effects of the Battle.  He had witnessed Bard's reunion with his children in the Market, their meal by the fire, and observed the Bowman's grief, at the small child's state.  Then he watched Bard wander into the night to collect himself, and felt empathy.  Thranduil, more than anyone, knew what was going through Bard's mind; he understood the weight of that terrible responsibility, and had followed Bard at a distance to give him privacy, yet make sure he was safe.

After leaving Bard asleep, Thranduil had come across Tauriel.  She'd been sitting against the ruins of a stone wall, staring up into the night sky, searching amongst the clouds for stars, to find what small comfort she could after such a terrible loss.  He quietly called her name, and motioned her over to him.  As she stood before him, he ordered, "Until further notice, Captain., you are assigned as Guard to Lord Bard's children, and will be their Chief Caretaker.  They must be kept safe from harm, at all costs.  Do you understand?"

Bard wasn't aware yet, of the importance of his children’s safety, especially the young son, but he would very soon.  

The relief on Tauriel's face had been palpable.  The assignment was genuinely important, but Thranduil wanted to give this young Elf a useful purpose, to ease her unhappiness.

Not meeting his eyes, Tauriel saluted.  “Yes, my Lord."

"They are sitting by the fire on the east side of City Wall.  Guard them for one hour, unseen, then bring them to Bard's tent."

Thranduil decided this assignment was a good one, from all angles.  The children, he’d learned, had been attacked by Orcs in Laketown before the Dragon came, and Legolas and Tauriel had rescued them, then transported them out of the inferno once Smaug appeared in the sky.  They knew her, and trusted her.  Tauriel would do well with the young ones as well; it would, hopefully, distract her from the grief she felt.  What better way to lift a grieving spirit, than the laughter of a child? 

What better way, indeed.

His keen sight spotted a colorful object ahead in the dark.  He stepped over to it, and reached down to pick it up.  Stained and bloodied, he saw the red woolen hair.

It was the doll that Bard’s youngest child spoke of.  He regarded it for a moment or two, then carried it back to his tent.

 

 

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _losta-luith_ – sleeping spell

 

NOTES:

Thank you to this site for helping me with the Sindarin used in this Chapter:

http://www.ambar-eldaron.com/english/downloads/sindarin-english.pdf

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is another Chapter! I hope you like it. This is fun! Don't forget to check out other great Barduil fanfic authors, such as [Andy_Bee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Andy_Bee/pseuds/Andy_BeeAndy_Bee) and his sweet story, ["Silver and Gold."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9242942>) There is also a favorite of mine, ["Forget Love, Fall in Coffee](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5172239Forget%20Love,%20Fall%20in%20Coffee), by Neurotoxia, and all the many, many works of [Of_Planet_Earth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth/works?fandom_id=873394)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has a bombshell dropped on him, and Thranduil has a confession to make.

 

 

“I don’t see why the children and I need guards, Lord Thranduil!”

This was Bard’s greeting to the Elvenking, upon his arrival at his tent the next morning.  Or, rather, _late_ morning.

~o0o~ 

> After an undisturbed night’s sleep, Bard awoke to find the beds next to him mussed from use, but unoccupied.  He looked at the table, and could see evidence of his children there as well. He sat up, in a panic, then rushed to the entrance of the tent.  He reached for the flap to open it, but hands, quicker than his, had done it for him.
> 
> “Good morning, Lord Bard.”  Came from one of the guards. 
> 
> So, it wasn’t a dream, then.
> 
> “Uh…Good morning.  Have you seen my children?”
> 
> “Yes, My Lord.  They are with Tauriel. She took them to eat their breakfast, and now she has taken them a on walk with one of her Dwarf friends.  They were headed towards the Running River, I believe.”  At the mention of Dwarves, the Elf wrinkled his nose slightly.
> 
> “She _what_?  What do you mean they had breakfast?”  His head was still fuzzy from sleep.  “Wh…  They went where?"
> 
> “Not to worry, My Lord.  Two of our guards went with them, and Tauriel is more than capable of defending them, if need be.  They are perfectly safe.” 
> 
> “Wh... But…”  Bard stopped his babbling and looked up; noting the sun was fairly high in the sky. “Wait a minute!  What time is it?”
> 
> “It is three hours’ past sunrise, my Lord,” the Elf replied calmly.
> 
> “It’s _WHAT_?  Why did you let me sleep so late? Why did no one wake me when the children got up?”
> 
> “Lord Thranduil gave orders that your sleep was not to be disturbed unless the situation were dire, Lord Bard.  You were to stay abed as long as you needed.” 
> 
> This guard was starting to grate on Bard’s nerves, and the Elf was looking at Bard is if he might be losing his faculties.  Perhaps he was. 
> 
> “Well, do you happen to know if any breakfast is left?”
> 
> “Certainly, my Lord.  Allow me to arrange it and have it brought to you.”
> 
> “No, that’s not necessary.  I’ll go scrounge up something or other.”
> 
> “Lord Thranduil has ordered that you be served a substantial breakfast, preferably hot.  I am to have porridge made for you with fruit, as soon as you awaken, with tea, if you wish.  He also ordered that, should you object, that I am to insist upon it, My Lord."
> 
> “But…I…”
> 
> “Yes, My Lord?”
> 
> “ _Please_ don’t call me that! Just call me Bard.  My name is Bard.”
> 
> “I cannot do that, My Lord.”
> 
> Bard closed his eyes.  There seemed to be no way to avoid this.  He heaved a sigh.  "Fine.  I’ll take breakfast here, then.  And, yes, tea would be good.”
> 
> “As you wish, My Lord, we will bring it right away.”
> 
> “Well, I _don’t_ wish, as you well know, but it seems I have little choice in the matter.”  With that, Bard reached once again for the tent flap, and, once again, the guard beat him to it.  Bard muttered something under his breath, and stomped inside.
> 
> As the tent flap closed, Bard’s new Elven guard smiled to himself; these Men were amusing.
> 
>  
> 
> After he was served breakfast (he had to admit, the porridge was good, and the tea was just right), he washed his face and hands, then made to leave his tent.  Again, his guards opened it for him. 
> 
> _This_ was going to take some getting used to. 
> 
> He planned to see Thranduil, but first, he needed to find Percy and give him his orders for the day.  He also needed to talk to Hilda; she'd know what his children were up to.
> 
> As Bard walked through the camp, he noticed one of the guards was following him - the annoying one. 
> 
> "Stop that."
> 
> "I cannot, My Lord; I am under orders to accompany you wherever you go, to ensure your safety."
> 
> Bard rolled his eyes.  He'd get to the bottom of _this_ nonsense, when he saw the Elf King.
> 
> He spied Percy up ahead.  “Good morning!  How are things here?” 
> 
> “Hey, Bard!  We’re all a bit slow this mornin' but considerin’ our activities yesterday, I won’t complain about it.  Let them all sleep in, I say.  These Elf-guards are doin’ a decent job, and the men need a rest.”  The man noticed Bard's Elven guard.  "Got an entourage, have you?"
> 
> "Don't ask.  It's the Elvenking's idea." 
> 
> "I'm impressed.  Am I standing in the presence of greatness, now?"  Percy smirked.  "Should I bow?  Kiss your feet, perhaps?"
> 
> Bard may or may not heard a snort from the Elf. 
> 
> "Oh, shut up."  Bard narrowed his eyes. "Be sure all the men are up and fed by lunchtime.  There’s much to do, and we can’t wait too long.  We’ve got some gruesome work ahead of us, and I won’t leave that to the Elves.”
> 
> Percy knew what he was talking about.  The streets of the city needed to be cleared of Orc bodies, and the carcasses of the Trolls needed to be dragged out to field to be burned.  The Elves could no doubt help with that, but there were many bodies from Laketown.  Percy agreed with Bard; those good people needed the care and dignity provided by their own folk.  There were also the terrible lists of the dead and the missing to be made.
> 
> “Do you know where your wife is?” asked Bard.
> 
> “Last I saw, she was helpin’ the Elves in the big Food Tent yonder.”
> 
> “I need to speak to her first, then I'll be in Lord Thranduil’s tent; probably all day.  If you need me, look for me there.  I hate even thinking this, but…we have so little clothing and shoes for the survivors.  I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to gather what usable things you can from the dead.  Winter's coming, and we need to put the welfare of the living first, if we're going to survive it.”  At this, Bard’s face looked stricken, but Percy saw the wisdom in his order, as difficult as this would be to carry out.  His Second-in-Command gave Bard a solemn nod and left to get started.
> 
> He then made his way over to the big, central pavilion that had been set up; probably this morning.  Hilda was leaning over a tub, washing dishes with another Laketown woman.
> 
> “Good morning to you.” He said.  “I see you’re keeping things moving along.”
> 
> “The same to you, dear.” She smiled up at Bard. “You know me, pet: always in the thick of things.”
> 
> “Can you spare me a few minutes?  There are some things I need to speak to you about.”  Bard may be their leader, but Hilda wasn’t one to be commanded.  That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
> 
> “Sure thing.”   Hilda wiped off her hands and called another woman to take her place.  She joined Bard, and together they walked a short distance away from the hustle and bustle. 
> 
> “I was wondering if you'd seen the children this morning.  I was asleep when they came to bed, and they were gone when I woke up.  The guard,” he pointed to his shadow standing a few feet away, “told me Tauriel took them away from the camp, after breakfast.”
> 
> “Aye, that she did.  It was my idea.  She was here, making sure they got a good meal, and to make sure they saw me.” So, the children had told Tauriel about Hilda, “I spoke to her about getting them away from all of this.  They all need to be occupied with something other than the goings on here.  One of them Dwarves came looking for her, the one with the hat – Bofur, I think his name was – and the children wanted him to go along.  Seems like they knew him.”
> 
> “They do, actually.  He was one of the Dwarves that saved them when the Orcs attacked my house.”
> 
> “Well, that makes sense, then.  Anyhow, I told the redhead to keep ‘em busy, and I sent ‘em along with a good lunch.  The Dwarf went with ‘em, and a couple of soldiers from the Elf King’s army.”
> 
> Bard hesitated to ask, but he was still worried.  “How was Tilda?”
> 
> Hilda’s face turned serious.  “Still not talking, the poor mite.  Your other ones were tryin’ to cheer her up, and we all made sure she ate a good breakfast.  I hope this day trip of theirs does her good.”
> 
> “Aye, I hope so.  I don’t know what to do about her, Hil; I really don’t, and it breaks my heart.  I’m glad Tauriel agreed to take them out; it'll do all of them good.  Tauriel lost her Dwarf yesterday - the younger one of the Princes.  I think being in charge of the children will help her, too.”
> 
> “Oh, the poor girl!  She did seem sad, come to think on it.  Did you ask her to take care of the kids?”  Of course, Hilda would want to know that.  She was almost as protective of them as he was. 
> 
> “No, it wasn’t me.  King Thranduil gave the orders, but I can’t say I disagree with him.  We'll be too busy to see to them all the time, and this puts my mind at ease.  I can’t understand how I could sleep through all their racket, though.”
> 
> “It’s no surprise to me.” A rueful chuckle.  “You’ve had a time of it, so, all the better, I say.  Now, I’ve got somethin’ to talk to _you_ about.”   Her finger poked at his chest.  “Seems to me _all_ these kids need to be away from this, not just our babies.”
> 
> Bard smiled.  Of course, Hilda would notice it, too.  “I was thinking the same thing, and I’m going to talk to Lord Thranduil about it, this morning. I had the idea about somewhere outside of camp, and then they could come back at night to be with their families.  Too much is going on here with the cleanup, and I don’t want them seeing it.”
> 
> “Aye, you're right. I doubt Tilda's the only child suffering from shock; they've all been through too much.  When we set this up, the bigger ones can help with the younger ones, there.  We could have some of the elderly folk help too.  It’d make them feel useful.”
> 
> “Good thought.  That brings me to my next question:  I want to ask you if I could put you in charge, of running the camp itself.  I'll be with the King most of the time, and in meetings with Dwarves - there's no avoiding it.  Percy’s in charge of the men and the cleanup, but I need someone with a sharp eye, in charge of the women and children and the shelters here.  Would you see to that?  Make sure everybody has a job to do and is doing it, and report back to me, yeah?”
> 
> Hilda’s hands went to her hips.  “Course I will.  I’ve been doing that already, so this just makes it official.” she said with a smile. 
> 
> “That’ll be grand, Hil.  Between you and Percy, I’ll be able to keep ahead of most things.  I’ll tell them to look to you, then.”
> 
> “Don’t worry; I’ll let them know.  Most folks are already coming to me anyhow.  If we need anything, I’ll be the first to hear about it, and then you.  Now, you best get to the Elf King's big tent, and tend to business.  I’ve got work to do.”  With a smile, Hilda turned to walk away.  Then she stopped suddenly to turn and give Bard a long, hard hug.  “You're doing good Bard." She whispered.  "Don’t let anyone tell you different.  We all of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”  She held him tighter. "I'm proud of you, love."
> 
> Her words made him swallow hard.  “Thanks; I needed that."
> 
> Hilda released him, and cleared her throat.  “You best be going, then.”  She turned again and walked away briskly, dabbing at her eyes.
> 
> Bard looked after her for a moment; then he headed for Lord Thranduil’s tent. 
> 
> With that annoying guard following behind him.

~o0o~

“Good morning, Bard; did you sleep well?”  Thranduil asked with a smile, pretending not to notice Bard’s abrupt, irritated arrival.

“As a matter of fact, I did.  But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I do not believe you _asked_ a question of me.  Therefore, I am puzzled as to why you require an answer.”  A thick, dark eyebrow raised on the blonde King’s face.

Not for the first time this morning, Bard heaved a sigh.  Fine, then.  “My Lord, _why_ do the children and I need guards?” Bard’s patience was at its limit.  He may have gotten some sleep, but it didn’t make up for the strain from the Battle, and the expectations suddenly placed upon him.  Too much was changing too fast; there was no time to adjust or even make sense of it.

“First of all, Bard, please sit down,” Thranduil indicated the chair across the large, round table from him.  “Would you like something to drink?  Water? Wine perhaps?  I have juice as well, if you like. Or perhaps some tea?"

Bard sat.  “It’s early in the day to be drinking, but something tells me I'll need the wine.”

The King poured some into a silver goblet, then set it in front of him.

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Next, let us dispense with titles, shall we?  Since our stations are equal, there is no need for deference to each other.  Call me Thranduil, please.”

Bard was still agitated. “I don’t see how we are equal!  Three weeks ago, I was just a Bargeman, who delivered your wine, and smuggled supplies every now and then.  I've lost my home.  I spent weeks preparing for a war that was never supposed to happen in the first place, and now I’ve got this title pushed on me, and your guards who are using it every chance they get!  Speaking of that, please answer my question.  Why do you insist on assigning guards to the children and me?”  Bard took a sip of the wine.  Ah.  Dorwinian.  It was strong stuff, so he'd be wise to go slow with it.  Or not.

Thranduil’s face lost its pleasant smile as he became serious.  “You are no longer just a Bargeman or Bowman.  You and your people survived the Desolation of Laketown, and against all odds, you led your people through one of the worst battles I have ever seen - and, for me, that is saying something!  Bard, you will never be ‘ _just_ ’ anything, again. Like it or not, you are now the leader of these people, and they will _never_ stop needing you.  You require guards, because your life is far too important, not only to your children, but to all of Dale.  Beyond survival, they look to you for strength and confidence, as well as guidance.  Your children are their sign that the city will continue and endure. 

“From this day forward, Bard, you will have to watch every step you take, each word that comes out of your mouth, and carefully weigh every decision you make be it for the Dale or your private life.  You belong to them, now.  It is the same with your children, I am sad to say; they will be expected to set the example.  Your people need you, to show them how to help Dale to grow and prosper.  You all _must_ be protected against those who do not wish to see this happen.”

Bard opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil raised a hand to silence him, as he continued:

“I ask that you please listen to me. You lost many good people in the destruction of Laketown, did you not?  You also lost many of the less-than-savory characters.  The fire Smaug spewed to destroy your city, did not discriminate between the good and the bad, did it?  Miraculously, many of your people survived that destruction and followed you here, only to face the Battle.  You survived that, as well.  I know you have observed several of the Master’s guardsmen among the survivors, along with others who were loyal to him, have you not?"

Bard nodded.  "Yes, there are."

“Together, you fought a common enemy with little trouble, but, now that you are moving past these calamities, they will recall their former allegiances, and  perhaps will want to replace you with another.  This could cause an uprising, to oust you from the position you are now in.  Surely you can see this.”

Bard had honestly never considered it.

Thranduil continued with his explanation.  “Appointing guards around the camp does not just serve to protect your people from danger, it is also a clear warning to anyone who would thwart _you._ They now know, beyond doubt, that your family and all of the good people of Laketown, are under _my_ protection, and I will not tolerate attempts to overthrow your authority.  This, along with personal guards, helps to prevent a problem from even starting.  Beyond that, you will need constant protection, and so will your children, for the rest of your lives, even if you do not understand this fully yet.”

"But suppose there is someone better for this job?  I sort of fell into all this, when we first got here, but -"

Thranduil leaned across the table, his voice intense, but not unkind.  “It is essential, Bard - and I cannot stress this enough - it is _absolutely essential_ to Dale, and to all three Northern Kingdoms that YOU be the one to rule.  It _must_ be you, Bard, and no other.   You _must_ be kept safe, and your children must be protected so they can carry on your legacy, so Bain can rule when it is his time, and his sons after that.” Thranduil paused, looking at him, to see how much he understood.

“But I'm not really qualified..."

“You are more qualified than you know.  Dale is your birthright, Bard.  You are a direct descendant of Girion of Dale, and this kingdom, _your kingdom,_ has been restored to you."

Bard sat across from the Elvenking, wide-eyed, mouth still open, stunned into silence.  This can’t be true!  Can it?  He closed his mouth, blinked a couple of times, then opened it again.

“Oh, shit...  You’re going to try to turn me into a King, aren’t you?” His eyes went wide.

Thranduil’s smile was small, but perfectly serious.  **_“I_**  amnot going to make you into _anything_ , Bard.  You became the rightful ruler of Dale, the moment you arrived in the city with your people.  The Elves know this, all the Dwarves know this, Mithrandir and Radagast, and Beorn know this. You must accept it Bard:  You are _**already**_ a King.”

_Bloody fuck…_

Bard picked up his cup, drained it, then held it out to the Elf for more.

 

**************

 

After refilling Bard’s cup, Thranduil sat in silence, patiently waiting for Bard to digest all of this.

Several minutes went by, while Bard ran his hand over his face, then opened his mouth to speak, shaking his head in denial.

“Thranduil, it’s one thing to oversee people in a crisis, but... what you’re speaking of is running a Kingdom.  An _entire bloody Kingdom_ , for Valar’s sake!  I’ve no clue how to  do that!  I don’t know how to be a King; I wouldn’t know where to begin!”

“I agree.  You do not.  At least, not at the moment.  That is why I have decided to help you.”

Bard lifted his cup to drink again.  And swallowed its entire contents.  Again.

Thranduil studied the man across from him, with sympathy.  It was all too easy to recall what his own life had become, when Kingship was suddenly thrust upon him.  At the time, he was younger than Tauriel is now, and less mature than Bard, but he knew the enormity of it.  He had never planned, nor had he expected to be the ruler of the Woodland Realm, but, like Bard, he had little say in the matter. 

“You?  Why would you do that?  You’ve barely had anything to do with Laketown!  You and your people hardly deal with _anyone_ outside your realm; why the sudden interest now?  What do you gain?"

It was a fair question.  Thranduil took a sip of his wine, keeping his gaze on his cup.  Bard was correct: The Woodland Realm had been isolated for almost two centuries; unwelcoming to most outsiders, especially since Smaug had sacked Erebor and took up residence.  Much of that had to do with the forest becoming sick and dangerous.  But it was also true that Thranduil, had little interest in the world outside of his realm.

This had to change; he understood that now.

Thranduil had been _horrified_ to learn the true identity of the Necromancer, at Dol Guldur.  _The One_ had been in _his_ realm.  Mithrandir had told him of fighting with the Nine, and Galadriel, who banished Sauron to Mordor, at great cost to her power. 

Thranduil felt deep shame that something so evil could reside and gather strength under his very nose.  He’d never seen it, only because he hadn’t cared enough to look.  It was inexcusable to miss something as important as this.  He found little comfort from Mithrandir's assurances that, had Thranduil known the truth, there was little he, alone, could have done about it, anyway. The Wizard, too, blamed himself for not discovering Sauron sooner.  But was done is done.  There was little value in self-recrimination over things that cannot be changed; best to learn and move forward, Mithrandir said.  

Now that Sauron was gone, and his Orc Army destroyed, the forest would begin to heal, and become safer; but caution was still warranted.  

Thranduil was gifted with some foresight.  Sauron, he knew, would be back, and with greater numbers, sometime in the future.  He knew it, Mithrandir knew it, the White Council knew it.   He and Mithrandir discussed this at length, and agreed; they needed to strengthen and stabilize the Northern Realms for all their sakes, and for their survival.

Bard, however, didn’t need to be told of this right away.  Best not to add to his burdens, until he could learn how to bear the ones he knew about.  His immediate task was to help the new King of Dale as much as possible; to ease Bard as best he could, but also quickly.  He could empathize with the Man's feelings of doubt and reluctance. At the beginning of the Third Age, when Kingship fell to him, and he was fortunate to have a loyal mentor.  At the time King Oropher was killed, all the Council members and advisers that went to war with him had perished, save one.

Thranduil, set his cup down and gave the King of Dale his full attention.  He studied the greenish-brown color of Bard's eyes; they were so like the trees of the forest he had loved all his life.  Bard’s face was full of uncertainty, and his brow was wrinkled from years of struggle, and tanned from hours in the sun.  Yet it suited this proud, handsome, Bowman.  Yes; he had Girion’s looks bearing, but there was something more about him; something worth exploring.  Thranduil found _Bard intriguing_ , in a way he didn’t quite understand yet.

At the least, Bard needed a friend, and Thranduil knew he wanted _very much_ to _be_ that friend _._

“I understand your hesitation, Bard.  I also understand your doubts, about my offer of help.”

“I do have doubts.  Tell me, why should I trust you?”

“Do you know any other King who could give you the guidance you need, to fulfill this role?  I am offering you the same help and support I needed, when this burden fell upon my shoulders."

Bard was taken aback by this.  “So…you didn’t want to be King, either?”

"No, Bard; I did not.  I was much too young; completely unprepared, but if not for the help I, myself received, I do not know what would have happened to the Woodland Realm..."

~o0o~

> Galion, Oropher’s personal aide, had been there, on that wretched plain of Dagorland, to hold Thranduil as he wept over his father’s body, and the countless others lost at the time.  They wept together at this loss.  Thranduil had known Galion since birth; he was always at his father’s side, to serve him in his personal needs, and to assist in the endless minutiae required to rule the Woodland Realm.  King Oropher had complete trust in his Chief Aide, and confided in him as a close friend, who returned that trust with loyalty and absolute discretion. 
> 
> At Oropher’s death, no request needed to be spoken.  Galion immediately stepped in, performing his tasks to the best of his ability, now for the late King’s young son.  He guided his new King and saw to his every comfort.  He stood by Thranduil's side, like he had for his father, and to taught him everything he'd observed from watching Oropher.  Galion redoubled his efforts when Thranduil’s mother, the Queen, at risk of fading, sailed to Valinor three years after her son’s return to the Woodland Realm.
> 
> Galion proved his true worth, as Thranduil learned how to face his Council members.  Most of them were new, but there were two that had stayed behind to oversee the kingdom during the War.  These elves were particularly difficult, and appeared determined to regard him as simply the Prince.  They second-guessed each decision he wanted to make, because they weren’t willing to instantly put their faith in the new King’s authority.  Galion's encouraged Thranduil to speak of his ideas and his frustrations, and their lengthy discussions helped Thranduil gain insight.
> 
> At first, Thranduil used his father’s example to influence everything he did; he constantly asked himself: what would Oropher do?   Galion did not discourage this; it was an excellent way to instruct his King in his new role, and to ease his people into a different time.  This tactic also aided Thranduil greatly, as he slowly, but surely, cultivated the Council’s trust.
> 
> He understood that the difficulty the council caused him, was not necessarily without merit.  These Elves had run the Woodland Realm smoothly in their King’s absence.  They demanded proof from Thranduil that, under his reign, the Kingdom and its people would continue to thrive.  There was too much at stake, especially after the losses after the War of the Last Alliance.  It was their duty to be sure of Thranduil's abilities.  They were only concerned with protecting the Realm, and when he finally earned their trust, it was a person triumph, and boosted his confidence.
> 
> Oropher had learned from his own King, Elu Thingol, a good example example of what _not_ to do, when dealing with a Royal Council, and caring for a kingdom.  Thingol’s rule was Absolute, as was Oropher's but Thingol didn’t take his own Council's advice that seriously.  He was headstrong and obstinate, and was the cause of  Doriath's destruction.  The High King was brilliant, and accomplished many wonderful things in his kingdom, but his own personal desire for a sacred jewel was his doom.
> 
> He coveted one of the a _Silmarils,_ and refusedto heed all the warnings of his Queen.  Melian was a Maia, a creature only slightly less than a Vala!   Oropher cursed Thingol's greed, and never forgot the folly that destroyed so many of his kin. He often said to his son, that those jewels were never meant for those in this world, and, should he encounter one, avoid it at all costs.
> 
> Thranduil’s father often said that any ruler, even a great one, _must_ have someone to give account to.  Important decisions regarding the welfare of the people needed to be considered from all possible angles, through debates, and sometimes even arguments.  It helps prevent a King from ruling by emotion and reaction.  A good, trustworthy Council becomes the balance; a voice of common sense.  King Oropher had the final say in all things, but he was wise to carefully consider what his Council had to say.
> 
> As time passed, Galion gently encouraged Thranduil to regard decisions from his own perspective; to slowly step out from his father’s shadow, and to stand tall on his own.  Thranduil accomplished this, too, but never forgot Oropher’s warnings, and heeded them as often as possible.  
> 
> Soon, he will be forced to confront the many wrong decisions he had made with his Council, and reverse their isolationist policies.  That had to change now. Once they learn of Sauron's presence and the future war, they _must_ be made to understand and support this.

~o0o~

 Thranduil sat across from another reluctant King, and commiserated with him.

“As with you, Bard, I was unexpectedly thrust into the role with little preparation.  I was fortunate Galion had also survived the Last Alliance.  There is little he does _not_ know about running a Kingdom; he had served my father faithfully, since the beginning.  My people do not realize how much they owe my own success to him.  His help, is why I know you need assistance, and why I offer it. I can help you understand what it is like to be a King from a King’s perspective.  There has been little I have not seen; little I have not dealt with.  You will need this.  You will need _me_.  I hope you learn to trust me enough to help you, Bard.”

Bard regarded the Elvenking for a long, intense moment, with narrowed eyes.

 “You ask me to trust you, Thranduil, but you haven't explained to me where you and your men went, during the Battle yesterday.  I heard the horns. I saw your men retreat.  You came back, but still, Thranduil, _you_ _tried to leave_!  I’ve no cause to trust you with all that much, until I know the reason why!" 

The Elf’s grey eyes widened in shock.  Bard just stared at him, his mouth in a grim line, waiting.

 _Oh Valar...  Of_ _course, Bard would demand an explanation; he was entitled to it..._

Thranduil hardly wanted to admit the reasons for this mistake to himself, let alone anyone else.  He closed his eyes tightly; it cut deep, to even recall it.  How to fully explain?  How to make Bard understand, without seeming weak and ineffectual in his eyes?  How to speak of it?  Was he even able to?

He had to.  The only thing that could earn Bard’s complete trust would be the truth, but he wanted more than his trust.  He realized right then, that he desired this man's forgiveness, and _not_ just as ruler of Dale.  He wanted Bard's understanding as a _friend_.

So, the King of the Woodland Realm, opened his eyes, and looked into Bard’s, that were so like his forest.  He took a deep breath, and began to speak, with a low, quiet voice that was struggling to sound even:

“Bard, have you ever been in a war before this?  I have, many times; more than I would wish _anyone_ to be.  The violence, all the sounds, the screams of pain, the smell of blood and foul things cannot be fully described to one who has not lived it.  Many are killed.  Many are wounded.  All are changed forever.  You will see this truth for yourself, and when that happens, I will grieve for you.

“When the War of the Last Alliance was fought, it went on for seven years.  I went with my father." Thranduil gave Bard a small, wry smile, "I was proud to be at his side, but ignorant of the true horrors I was about to face.  My father tried to warn me, but I was too young, too excited be a part of it.  This was a necessary war - much was at stake, and I knew our cause was just.  No one could have predicted how long it would take to defeat Sauron then, or the tremendous cost.

“In the end, we did win, but I ask you, Bard, does anyone  _feel_ like a victor after so much death, so much destruction?  There were fields covered in the bodies of dead Orcs, which was what we aspired to.  That was what I envisioned, when I followed King Oropher south.  Nothing could prepare me for the sight of the ground covered with bodies of our kinsmen. Many of them were childhood friends.  If you have ever seen a Map of Middle Earth, and read “Dead Marshes,” you have found the mass graves of those who died there.  Worst of all, own father was among those bodies."  

Thranduil stopped, and swallowed a couple of times.

"Many criticized Oropher for the charge of the Elves, which took his life, along with King Amdir and his peopl of Lórien.  It had not been sanctioned by Gil-Galad, the High King, was regarded as defiant and foolhardy.  Perhaps it was, but I could understand _Adar’s_ reasons.  During this War, he had watched much of his army die.  He was responsible for each life lost in that place.  He was also responsible to their families, and believed, if something was not done, our people would not recover to sustain his Kingdom.”

Thranduil angrily shook his head.  “King Amdir was a fool, and whispered much into my father’s ear to goad him into leading that charge.  No one mourned his loss, except for his son, Amroth.  He wasn’t much better, if I am to be perfectly honest.  No; I learned from watching that foolishness, and refuse to hear his counsel on any matter.”  

Thranduil took another drink, then went on.  “For a King, Bard, the good of his kingdom as a whole, must _always_ come first.  Always.  Even before its individual people.”  He said the last part quickly, as he saw Bard’s mouth open to protest at this.  “It is true, Bard.  There is no other way to think of it.  If a King does not care for the kingdom itself as his highest priority, then the people in it will not survive.

"It is a King’s first duty to protect the entirety, the  _place_ that our people live in.  Sometimes, we must choose what our Kingdom needs, over what our people want, though that should be done only rarely.   Please try to understand that, by doing so, a King _is_ serving his people.  If they are to have a safe place to live, where they can prosper, strengthen the economy, have children who survive to maintain the population - even increase it, then the Kingdom remains strong. The terrible price of protecting this Kingdom, are the lives that must be risked.” Thranduil's eyes closed in consternation at this last thought.  "It is a terrible thing to know, and excruciating to carry out, as you learned for yourself, yesterday.”

“I did,” Bard agreed. “And I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Thranduil took a drink, then continued.  “My father ordered us to go to War, to protect the Kingdom, and he was right to do this.  He was willing to sacrifice some, in order to protect the whole.  But as the War dragged on, he realized he would lose too many of his men, and this could threaten the existence of the Woodland Realm.  Can you understand this?  King Oropher could not lose many more of our people, if his Kingdom were to continue.  He felt compelled to do _something,_ so he could take us out of that place and return home.  In the end, when we finally did return, two-thirds of our soldiers had been lost, including my father, and I was the new King. 

"Our people are not like yours, Bard.  Elves do not increase nearly as quickly as Men.  Even after almost three millennia, our population has not returned to the numbers it once was, and when the forest became sick, our population growth slowed even further.

“All these things are sound reasons for our temporary retreat, Bard.  At this point, if I said no more, I think you would understand and accept this.  However…”  

Thranduil paused, and stared into his wine goblet, with a sad look on his face.  After refilling it, he offered Bard more, who gave a slight nod.  He poured wine into Man’s cup, set the decanter down, and a took a long drink.  He knew he was stalling.  His fingertips began to trace the etching on his cup, as he spoke once more.

"Bard, you deserve to know the other reason.  You deserve to know the entire truth.”

Thranduil stopped speaking; lost in thought, lost in memories.  Then he looked up at Bard, who was waiting for him to continue.  The Bowman’s face was serious and expectant, so he mustered his courage, and a deep, sad sigh, the King continued.

“When I was in the streets of Dale yesterday, I saw so many bodies of my people, but I did saw more than that, and...  I also the bodies of Dagorland, Bard.”   He stopped again, taking another breath or two.  “I do not fully comprehend how this happened.  Even the _smells_ from that wretched place filled my nostrils again; it was _so real_.”  Thranduil’s breathing became faster, shallower.  He felt the glamour on his face weaken and begin to waver, so he focused a bit and restored it.  “I could _see_ my own father, lying there with no life in his eyes.  I could _see_ so little of our people returning once again, I _heard_ the anguish  of families looking for loved ones, not finding them among the living.  Those memories have never left me…  They often haunt my dreams still.  I find myself looking to the South, and it feels like the sun grows dim, from the horror of it...

”But, how the stuff of my dreams could invade my waking hours…I do not know…I cannot tell you how that happened, only that it did.  It... _frightened_ me, Bard.”

_It is so difficult to get these words out..._

“You were right,” he looked at Bard with pain and shame in his eyes.  “I did order a retreat.  I…should not have done so.  I am sorry for that, Bard; I truly am.”  His voice wavered slightly at his apology, and lowered his eyes; this time, he was scrutinizing the inlaid woodwork on the table, and nervously traced the patterns with his fingers.  He didn’t dare to meet Bard’s gaze.  He was afraid of what he might find there, afraid it would mean too much.

A quiet voice asked him, “What made you change your mind and come back, Thranduil?”

Thranduil took another long drink. This part was even harder to speak about.  But he needed Bard to hear all of it.

“I am… ashamed to say it was changed for me.”

_Say the words...  Say them.  Tell him..._

“Tauriel confronted me.  She accused me of not caring about what would happened to the Dwarves.  I reacted…badly, to her, and my son, Legolas, intervened.  The look on his face…”  He paused to take yet another breath, another drink, another effort to keep his scars hidden.  “The look on his face will be something that will join all the other things that grieve me deeply.  Mithrandir was witness to this and…forced me to remember what my true priorities should be.  It forced me back to the present, to see how wrong I was to try to leave.” 

 _How wrong I was about many things.._. 

“I was…reminded…that your people would never survive if I left, and the Dwarves would be slaughtered.  I immediately rescinded the order to retreat and we rejoined the Battle, and fought on, until after the Eagles came, and we were victorious.”  Thranduil gave a hollow laugh.  " _Victorious?_ What a profane word, after all that death..."  He looked deeply into the Bowman's eyes, and said earnestly, "Bard, I do not know if you can ever believe me, but I _truly_ never wished ill upon your people.” 

Thranduil held his breath, and looked at the fingers holding his cup.  He sat very still, waiting for Bard to respond in some way, steeling himself for the worst.  After such a heartfelt explanation, he felt drained and weary.

The tent was quiet for several long moments.

“You asked me if I’ve experienced war, Thranduil, and before this, I haven’t,” Bard said quietly.  “I _can_ tell you that we _all_ have grievous moments that follow us, both awake and in our dreams.  I’ve had to deal with this, too.  I know you’re right; I’ll be haunted by memories of that Dragon, and  Battle...  I can't possibly know what it was like, to fight for so long, right before Sauron himself.  I’ve heard tales of that War since boyhood, and I don’t think I’m in any position to judge you.”  Then Bard added, with sympathy, “I’m sorry you lost your father, Thranduil.”

At that last sentence, Thranduil looked up at Bard’s face.  It was still grim, but there was understanding and forgiveness there, as well.  His eyes started to sting, and fill, and he swallowed again and blinked rapidly, unable to speak.

Bard must have seen his distress, because he said,  “I think it best that this stay just between us.  No one else will know, at least for my part,” Bard continued gently.  “What was said here, will remain here.” 

When the Bowman said those words, Thranduil was reassured that his instinct regarding him was right.  Bard will be a fair and just King, but in this moment, he only felt thankful for his understanding as a man.  As a friend. 

Thranduil felt lighter; a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  Sharing something so personal, so vulnerable, had always been next to impossible for him.  Mírelen was the only one he had been able to really open his soul to and all that changed, after she died. 

But not even to Mírelen had he spoken of that terrible War.  Galion had been there, and never pushed him to talk about it.  The Aide had his own horrors and sorrows which haunted his dreams.  Many who lived through the War of the Last Alliance had the same predicament.

His tale to Bard had begun out of obligation, to gain the trust of someone who was entitled to the truth.  He'd never meant to go into such detail, but, now, he was glad he had.  It was a relief to entrust Bard with this, and to know he wouldn't use it against him.  There was something in the Bowman's strong face and intelligent eyes, that gave him the courage to be more open than he'd been in countless years. 

 _What was it about this Man before him_?

He was interrupted in his reverie by Bard's soft voice with its Laketown accent.     

“Now then, could we to scare up some lunch?”  Bard asked, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.  “I’m still hungry, and I’ve got some things I need your help with before we can start with all these ‘Kinging’ lessons.”

Thranduil gave him a smile, sent for Galion to prepare their meal, and they began their work for the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard ponders all the changes in his life, now that he is a King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you read the [Stories of Our Love](http://archiveofourown.org/series/290453) series by [Misty_Endings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Endings/pseuds/Misty_Endings)? Go check it out, you'll love it! There are also some great stories written by [Deus_Ex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Deus_Ex/pseuds/Deus_Ex) that I know you will enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

 

Bard left Thranduil’s tent in the early evening, and headed for his family's tent, in a thoughtful mood. 

~o0o~

> Once Thranduil had finished with explanations, they had a good lunch and tried to get to work, but things were a bit difficult for a while - he had drunk more than was good for him.  That stuff was made to be strong for Elves, not a poor, overwhelmed Bowman who just had a Kingship dropped upon him!  
> 
> He was still in shock over the idea that he was King.  Thranduil tried to help, but perhaps the wine helped a bit more. 
> 
> “I can’t be a King like you, Thranduil!”  He said at first.  Well, he sort of _yelled_ it at first.  The effects of the wine, made his voice a bit louder and more forceful than normal.
> 
> “No, you will not.  You can never be a King like me.” Was the Thranduil’s reply. 
> 
> _Arrogant git_ , he thought, which, apparently was said out loud, because the elf raised his hand in protest.
> 
> “No, no, Bard, you misunderstand me,” Thranduil said, patiently.  “Please comprehend my meaning.  I am a King of _Elves_.  I know how to rule my own kingdom, because I know my people, and the land that is my home.  I know what both require of me. 
> 
> “You are a King of _Men,_ and that is a different situation entirely.  You live differently, and have needs and attributes unique to your race.  Many of the principles of ruling are the same, though.  I am confident you will be an effective King, because of what makes you an effective leader.  You _already_ know your people.  It is more than just being one of them, Bard.  You know the stories of almost everyone from Laketown, do you not?  You know their families, their struggles, their strengths; all because you had taken the time to learn them.  You did this because you _wished_ to, not because you _had_ to.  This is the quality that makes you an excellent King: a genuine interest in the lives of your subjects.  You love them.
> 
> “In the same way, I know _my_ people.  I make it my business to be aware of the suffering of a single Elf, as much as I wish to know about my people as a whole.  I believe you will continue to do this, but please, never take the effort for granted.  Many rulers become lax, under the weight of responsibility, and slowly stop listening. The result is a weakened Kingdom that is now vulnerable and will be overtaken by outside forces.  A King _must serve,_ not just be served.  You can only gain and keep their loyalty if they are sure you truly love and understand them.”
> 
> Bard was no politician, and he balked at the idea of Kingship.  He remembered the Master, who had been _very_ political man.  The only serving he did, was to himself, and he kept their people poor, hungry, and uneducated.   He could _never_ do that, he could never _be_ that.
> 
> By the end of his meeting with Thranduil, he understood why he needed to be the King of Dale, of his people.  Not because of his heritage, but because there was no one else Bard would fully trust with their welfare.  Especially not after all they had been through, with the Master.  He had _hated_ Laketown.  He had hated the Master even more, because of his greed, his selfishness and all his lies.  But he truly loved the people.  _His_ people.  Had he not been their leader, he would still do his utmost for them.  He'd been doing so for years, when the Master had been alive. 
> 
> Now, he was their King, which meant he'll have the power to benefit them, in ways they never imagined possible.  The people believed in Bard, even when he was too blind to see.  They knew he could help, and, now he did too.  Bard will always detest politics, but perhaps that’s the best reason he could be a good King.
> 
> The food at midday helped to sober him after all that wine, and he stayed with water and tea, for the rest of the day.  After lunch, he and Thranduil got right down to business; there was so much to be done.  Several messengers waited by the King's tent, to see to urgent matters that needed to be taken care of.
> 
> The Laketown children were placed safely away from all the gruesome tasks of cleanup.  Thranduil, upon hearing Bard’s concern, sent for Galion, ordering him to have this in place by the end of the day. The Aide was to coordinate with Lady Hilda, and left them to work out the details.  The Elvenking was confident it would be done within a few hours.  Elves adored children, and Feren had mentioned to Thranduil that several of his troops expressed concern for the orphans.
> 
> Some of Orcs' bodies continued to be burned, far away from the city, to avoid noxious fumes.  The bodies of the Trolls were being dragged away with the help of the horses, and dumped into the tunnels dug by the Were-Worms, along with all the Orc bodies they could manage.  Gandalf, the Eagles, and the Dwarves were working together to fill the tunnels as quickly as possible.  Once done, Gandalf would place spells on the entrances, to prevent further attacks.  Several troops of Elves and Dwarves were busy scouring the surrounding area, for any straggling Orcs and Wargs, 
> 
> Thranduil had already arranged for the all armor and weapons to be salvaged.  Most of that will be taken by Dale, to help with replenishing the armory and forged into building and living materials, such as kettles, plows, etc.  Later meetings with the Dwarves will hopefully result in the setup of some forges, as well, so the Dale blacksmiths can get to work.  Bard wasn’t sure if or how many smithies had survived, but he planned to ask the Dwarves to provide some, if need be, even to help train apprentices.  It was common knowledge by now, that the new King Under the Mountain was Dáin of the Iron Hills.  He will be officially crowned after the Thorin and his nephews' funeral, which will take place the day after the ceremony in Dale - five days from now.
> 
> Bard had asked Thranduil for some plain, white cloth to drape the bodies of the dead of Laketown, to give them dignity. Thranduil ordered some from the Woodland Realm, to be delivered immediately, the burials will start tomorrow morning.  The dead of Bard's people were being counted, and, as much as possible, identified.  Since there was only a few men able to read and write, they were set to the task of making lists of their names, whose family they belonged to, and former occupation.  Bard did not envy the men doing this; Bard didn’t envy _anything_ his men were doing today.  War was a horrible business, and counting the costs in lives was agonizing, but there was nothing else to be done.  Another messenger was sent, to recruit Elves who spoke and wrote in Westron, to aid in making the lists and offer support those who had to make identifications.  
> 
> Bard also had to admit to the Elvenking, that he ordered any serviceable shoes, belts, buckles coats, etc. be salvaged from the dead, as there was so little clothing to go around.  Thranduil was horrified.  He understood the need, but he wanted to alleviate this if he was able.   Elven soldiers could help with this gruesome task, should the Lakemen find it difficult, Thranduil offered.  He also suggested these items should be offered to the families first, as keepsakes should they want them.  If not, only then could they be given to someone else.  Bard had agreed, so Thranduil a messenger was sent to inform Percy of the slight change in plan.  There still wasn’t enough warm clothing to go around, just blankets.  Thranduil would supplement what clothing was still needed.  He already sent for clothing, some tailors and much thick woolen fabric, for coats, slippers and cloaks, and they were on their way. The remaining Guild at the Woodland Realm were doing their best to craft clothing as fast as they could, and send them with supply carts.
> 
> Additional medicines and supplies were also on their way, along with more Elven Healers.  Thranduil told Bard that most of the Dwarves that could be moved, were taken to Erebor to make use of their facilities, but Oin had remained, to oversee the care of the seriously wounded of his people.  He and the Chief Healer had been introduced, and were working closely together.  Smiling, Thranduil told him the Healers of all three races were wise enough to see Death is the only enemy worth fighting.  Both Kings hoped this cooperative spirit would continue.
> 
> The next concern was the clean-up of all the blood from the stone streets of Dale.  A plan was put into place, and a good one: once the streets were cleared of bodies and debris, carts would be brought in, full of soil and sand.  This material will be scattered liberally along the streets of Dale, to absorb the blood, then swept back up into the carts, hoping to rid the city of the smell of death and decay.  From that point, a good, long rain will be hoped for to cleanse the streets.  This being winter, it was hard to say when that would happen, so they must do the best they can.
> 
> The dead animals that participated in the Battle were to be burned, and the bones ground up (the Dwarves hopefully would help provide equipment, or at least repair what there already was in Dale), to mix with the sand and soil that used in the streets.  This soil will be plowed into the fields in the early spring, increasing their chances at a successful harvest.  Bard had been uncertain of this, being a fisherman, not a farmer. 
> 
> “You _must_ have a good crop next year, Bard,” he said.  “This first several years will be crucial, if Dale is to survive.  Once your people have been provided for, you can sell the rest of your crops, to buy more animals, whose manure will be used to fertilize the fields.  This is not a sacrilege, Bard.  The blood they spilled to save you, will be used to help bring life again.  Was this not what they were fighting for?  They helped to save Dale, and all the Northern Kingdoms.  Their sacrifice can still help you, and they will be honored for it."
> 
> "That's a way to look at it," Bard said, after he considered Thranduil's words.  "I want to have a remembrance service for my people next year, and this will be spoken of, when we honor the dead."
> 
> "That is an excellent idea."
> 
> Thranduil told him even the body of his Elk was to be burned, and his antlers carried back to his Palace.  They will be mounted, and given a place of honor in his Halls, along with a plaque made to honor him, the other animals who fought in the Battle beside their Masters. 
> 
> "I'm sorry you lost him, Thranduil; he was a magnificent animal.  I saw how the two of you worked together to clear the causeway, and it was an unforgettable sight."
> 
> The Elvenking sighed. "I am sorry too.  He served me well for many years, and I grieve his loss deeply.  There will never be one like him again."
> 
> The white stallion Bard rode to Erebor, will stay, as a gift to Bard; Thranduil insisted upon it.  "You will need a dependable steed, Bard, and you will find no better.  I have another stallion, and he is currently on his way to me from home.  Soon, we will be attending negotiations in Erebor, and you will need the transport.  He will help you quickly oversee your city, as well.  He is of noble stock and will serve and protect you.  My only request is that I may continue to use him for stud purposes, as he is part of our breeding program.  Many more horses will come to Dale; they are part of your life now.  You are no longer Lakemen, Bard, you are people of the land, and you need horses, both to ride and for working the soil.  Once you get your settlement from Erebor, we can speak about the purchasing of more of them in the spring.  But the Stallion is yours to keep."
> 
> "What's his name?" Bard asked.
> 
>  "' _Fînlossen_.'  It means 'Snowy Mane,' in Westron."
> 
> "I like it.  Thank you Thranduil.  I'm not used to horses at all, but he seemed gentle and he makes me look like an expert rider, though I'm not."
> 
> "You are welcome, Bard. He liked you, as well; it was obvious.  An Elven horse will never let his rider fall; you need never worry about that."
> 
> "How is he around children?  Should I keep them away?"
> 
> "He is patient and friendly.  Before the Battle, I saw him with several of your young.  My Elk was the same, and he loved it when they brought him treats.  You need not ever worry about this.  But do not be fooled by your horse's gentle demeanor.  When there is time, you must be trained to work with him in battle.  He is fierce and frightening, when fighting off enemies, and he will give his life to protect you."  
> 
> Bard sobered, "Then you've given me a great gift.  I'm honored."
> 
> Thranduil smiled. "The King of Dale deserves nothing less.  Now, let us move on to the next item..."
> 
> Tomorrow, they would arrange the details of the ceremonies to honor their dead.  It was decided a joint funeral will be held, Men and Elves together, in the late morning, two days from now.  The Dwarves will be invited, as he and Thranduil had been invited to Erebor the following day, to lay King Thorin and Princes Fili and Kili, to rest in their mountain tombs.  Bard had learned of the Gold Sickness that overtook Thorin, and while it went a long way toward explaining things.  He had to admire someone who could overcome something like that, and then, face down Azog the Defiler help win the Battle.  It was a brave thing to do, and he and his heirs sacrificed their lives in the attempt.  They deserved to be buried with honor. 
> 
> A week after the ceremonies, negotiations for trade and reparations will begin between the three Northern Kingdoms.  Bard wasn't looking forward to this _at all._   Thranduil had much more experience dealing with Dwarves, and he and Gandalf planned to help, as much as he could.  Dáin, he said, was a tough negotiator, but, mostly a fair one.  Thranduil told him he doubted he could be friendly with the Dwarf, but they could both benefit from mutual respect. 
> 
> Bard smiled at this.  It seemed the Elvenking didn’t care to be called a “Pretty Princess.”  Come to think on it, Bard wasn’t keen on he and his people being referred to as “Rabble.”  For his part, though, it was time to just let all that go and put it in the past.  A grudge was a waste of time and energy, and Bard had nothing to spare right now, for such nonsense.

~o0o~

He was glad the air was cleared about what happened with Thranduil during the Battle.  Bard was within his rights to demand an explanation from the Elf about their retreat, but he never expected the Elvenking to respond with such personal details.  And yet, he was glad of it.  Bard valued trust, above almost all things, and it didn’t come easily to him, after years under the Master of Laketown.  He needed to know, if Thranduil was someone Bard could truly rely on.  Thranduil’s complete honesty about his mistake did a great deal to earn that trust.

As Thranduil was speaking earlier of his flashes of memory from that War, his pain was hard to see.  His voice had fallen to almost a whisper, and his face was miserable.  Bard could swear he saw something waver on his left cheek, and was about to say something, but it was gone as soon as it started, so Bard blamed it on the effects of the wine.  He'd no idea how to respond to the way the Elvenking had been affected by the War.  It must have been terrifying, and he hoped Thranduil had faith in his promise to never reveal it to anyone.  He also sympathized with him over the loss of his father; Thranduil obviously loved and admired him very much.   

Bard felt the same way about his own father, and looked up to him, even now.  Brand was a fisherman by trade, in partnership with Percy, until his knees started to hurt him.  When he was forced to give it up, Brand gave his share of the business to his son.  After that, he repaired nets, and just about anything that broke in Laketown.  He was well-respected, and many looked to him for advice and help, if he could provide it.  They were never rich, but Brand had quality and honor, and folks gravitated to him.  Now, Bard understood how his lineage contributed to his father’s bearing, and sense of justice.  After he passed, many who had come to Brand with their troubles, looked to Bard.

When Brand passed away, in his sleep, Bard was devastated.  It was his heart, they were told.  There was some suspicion about this, because the Healer who declared his cause of death, was the Master’s personal physician.  Bard was never fully sure, but he was unable to provide proof.  After the services, most of the town came to Bard’s home to pay their respects (except for the Master, naturally).  They told him many stories about his father, how kind and fair he had been, all the ways Brand had helped them with one thing or another.  Many of those stories Bard had never heard, before.  Learning all this was a comfort, but it also made his loss seem bigger and harder to bear.  The best example Bard could follow as a King, would be the same that Thranduil used, when he began to rule his own Kingdom – their own fathers.  It would be an honor to dedicate his tenure as King to the man who made Bard who he was.

As Bard walked through the ruins (followed by his guard) he couldn’t stop wondering about Thranduil.  The Elf had seemed impenetrable, untouchable, when they first met.  He realized now that it was only a projection, and, on a deeper level, he could see the elf was _lonely_.   Bard could see it, in his light grey eyes, while they talked today.  The Elvenking had spend much of his life feeling set apart and alone, and it wasn’t hard to see they both could benefit from a friendship of equals.

Bard was quickly learning that leadership _can_ make one feel alone.  He had his children, of course, and he loved them more than his own life, but his job was to protect and provide for them, not lean on them.  As much as he cherished them, it’s not the same as having a friend.  Percy was this for Bard; had been for years.  They were lucky to have Percy and Hilda; he loved them as family.  They couldn’t be more generous to him and the children, and he was supremely grateful.  He had already decided he wanted them to hold key positions in the newly rebuilt Dale, and he knew they'd never let him down. 

Percy and Hilda were friends and neighbors, but, now they would work for him, be accountable to him.  They could never fully understand the stresses and strains that will come with being King.  Only another king would know.  It _is_ a lonely position, and, when he thought about all the solitary years Thranduil had ruled, he felt compassion for him.  He had heard his Queen died when Legolas was small, so, how long had the Elvenking been all by himself?  It was hard to contemplate.  Bard had seven years of loneliness to bear with, and they seemed an eternity.  How much harder for someone like Thranduil?

His opinion of the Thranduil was much better than it was three-and-a-half weeks ago.

~o0o~ 

> They did not have an auspicious beginning, when the Elf came to Dale.  Thranduil was haughty and condescending, unused to being questioned or second-guessed.  Bard supposed that, after centuries of every order being instantly obeyed, he’d been irritated that someone would sit across from him, demanding explanations.  In the weeks before the battle, when it became obvious that the mere presence of an Elven army was not enough to intimidate thirteen Dwarves, Bard was forced to sit with him and discuss strategy. 
> 
> During that time, Bard slowly changed his initial opinion.  His own Da had told him once, to never yell back when a man shouts at you; answer him with whispers.  “A good man will wait it out, and look behind all the noise.”  Brand had said.  It was one of the many things the father instilled in his son, who did just that, and watched the Elf closely.  The arrogance and iciness was an act.  A good one, but still an act.  As the days and weeks passed, while Bard and his men trained, and the refugee camp was organized, they met many times, and they reached a mutual understanding, and respect.  There was much more to this Elvenking than attitude and bluster.  What was under the surface, or “behind the noise,” was not what he was expecting.  There was a great intelligence, immense courage, but also a sadness, a vulnerability.  He could see fear, as well.
> 
> The Elvenking may have had less than warm, friendly words for Bard, upon first entering Dale’s ruins, but his actions revealed something quite the opposite.   He had supplied food, blankets, tents, clothes and medicine, all geared to the needs of Men. There were extra fires to warm them, more outer clothing, extra meat for their diet, and more frequent meals than the Elves were normally used to.
> 
> Thranduil _was_ surly, arrogant and, just plain **_snooty_** _,_ when he rode into Dale on that creature with those massive antlers.  He disliked the Elf, and hated that he had to depend on him.  He thought the Elvenking pretentious, along with that great beast of his.  Who else but the King of Elves would ride around one on of those gigantic brutes?
> 
> Later, during the Battle, Bard saw Thranduil astride that pretentious brute, racing across the bridge, at breakneck speed, to help save the people of Dale.  Bard was awestruck to see _exactly_ how that huge Elk served and protected its Master.  The beast savagely scooped up Orcs with those huge, hooked antlers like they were flowers, with his Master slicing all their heads off at once.  Again, and again, clearing off the bridge, they worked as one, dispensing with the Enemy, until a path was made into the city, for the Elves to come in.  It was an _unforgettable_ sight.  In a way, it had been beautiful, to see such a communion between this animal and his King.  He was genuinely sorry to hear that Elk had been killed.  Those who bore witness to its death told him of the mighty Elven warrior, rolling off its body and exploding into action, a sword in each hand.  With lightning speed, he had cut down an entire crowd of Orcs, almost effortlessly.  Bard’s men marveled at the sight of it. 
> 
> Songs will be written about it, they said.  He was sorry he missed seeing it.

~o0o~

 

There was no denying another fact, that often wormed its way into Bard's thoughts:  Whether he was acting as a King or a Warrior, Thranduil was undeniably **_stunning_**.  It was hard not to watch him; walking, speaking, riding, anything.  He was truly beautiful.  Bard’s eyes followed him whenever he caught sight of him.  It was impossible not to.

Bard shook his head, slightly, trying to clear his mind of such nonsense.  There was so much to think about now; so much to be done to get this city ready for its people, and they deserved no less than his very best effort.  He was fortunate that Thranduil was willing to help him with it. 

His people were a unique group, and their varied ancestry was something that needed to be protected and preserved, no matter where they would call home.  Laketown may have been a dump, but many people who made their home there came from other parts of Arda.  Bard didn’t believe there was a place anywhere else where this could be accomplished.  They brought their values, their culture, and their talents with them.  Laketown folk came in a variety of sizes, shapes and colors, and they all found a way to live together and mostly respect each other. 

In a roundabout way, the Master was helpful in this regard.  He was a terrible leader: greedy selfish, and unscrupulous.  What would've driven many other folk apart, spurred the good citizens of Laketown to be closer.  It galled the Master that they found ways to rely on each other and accept their differences in the face of a common obstacle.  Even the Elves, before this, had turned away, and cut themselves off.  Adversity only made Laketown folk more determined to work together.  Bard was immensely proud of them all.  This determination and the good work ethic were the reasons why he had confidence they could revive and rebuild Dale into a thriving Kingdom.   

_Kingdom..._

Bard actually has a Kingdom, now!  He still couldn't grasp the idea of it.  The image of Bard the Bargeman, with a crown on his head seemed ridiculous!   But as he digested the all Elvenking’s, words, they made sense.  He  _would_ help his people best, if he were crowned King.  It was the only reason he could accept this position.  Talk of his heritage meant little to him.   If Bard truly believed being King of Dale wouldn’t benefit his people, _nothing_ would make him go through with it. But, it was, and if this is the way it had to be done, then he’ll just to toss some gold and jewels on his head, square his shoulders, and do it.  _Stop thinking on it_ , he told himself. _Shut up and get on with it._

Thranduil was going to be helpful, because he wanted to see the Bowman be crowned King of Dale, but there was more to it than that.  Bard sensed Thranduil _genuinely_ _liked_  and respected him as a person.  This meant something, because Bard was surprised to find he genuinely liked him back.

There could be no other reason why the Elvenking could speak to Bard about such personal things.  The struggle Thranduil was going through, to talk about his haunting memories, and Bard knew, he was being honored with them.  Being no stranger to profound heartache, Bard tried to do for the Elf what Percy had done for him.  He offered a quiet, listening ear without judgement.  He'd never be happy about that order to retreat, but he could understand it better.  When Bard offered Thranduil his forgiveness, the Elvenking's gratitude showed in his eyes and he sat up a bit straighter.  They were becoming friends, and it was a good thing.

“Da!  Da!” came the cries before Bard could finish his musings. 

Bain and Sigrid were running up to see him, Tauriel was walking behind them, with Tilda on her hip.  Bodies ran into him, and arms went about his waist.  Two young voices continued, talking over each other, eager to tell him about their adventures.  “Da!  We went exploring down to the river and back, and Tauriel told us all kinds of stuff about the plants and the trees and the birds!”  Bain was always the excited one.  “She’s really smart.  She told us about how big the trees are where she lives.  She even showed us how fast she can climb ‘em, and we just stood and watched, and she just jumped through them!  It was amazing!  I’d love to see Mirkwood.  Can we go?  And OH!  And Bofur knows lots of silly songs, too.  He’s funny!”

Bard laughed, and it struck him how good it felt.  Weeks ago, they all had been on the brink of starvation, and then just yesterday, they all could have died.    

Now, he saw Sigrid and Bain’s rosy cheeks, and brighter eyes.  And, they were smiling.  Thank Ulmo, they were smiling.  This was just a start, but perhaps they could recover from the unspeakable things they’d seen.  Tilda, however, hanging on to Tauriel, still wasn’t speaking, wasn’t smiling.  She was going to have a tougher road, he could see, and made his heart ache.   Her cheeks were a healthy pink, though, and she seemed comfortable with the red-haired Elf; that was encouraging. 

Tauriel, herself, was missing her Dwarf, and although she was stoic, it was easy to see her pain, for those who knew to look for it. It seemed true that she and the children would be good for each other. Thranduil had told him as much, when he informed Bard he had assigned Tauriel as their main caregiver and guard.  Her duties included their personal care needs, as well as their safety, along with at least one guard whenever they ventured outside the camp.  Seeing them together, Thranduil’s words made sense.  Another example of how Thranduil was looking out for him.

“Oi, Bain!  Slow down so I can understand you, yeah?”  Bard gave both Sigrid and Bain a big hug, and as they continued to regale him with what they had seen and done.  Any other time, those things would sound ordinary and uninteresting, but, after facing horror and possible death, ordinary things such as a tree, or a pretty bird, _anything_ held beauty.  The children, and hopefully Tauriel, were finding comfort in these simple things.

When they finally stopped, Bard walked over to Tilda and Tauriel.  “Hello, Little Bean, did you see anything exciting today?  Did you miss your old Da?”  Tilda didn't really respond.  He took her from Tauriel’s arms and held her to him, and she laid her head on his shoulder.  She wasn’t smiling or frowning, and she wasn’t really meeting Bard’s gaze.  Tauriel seemed a bit reluctant to let her go, but she stood quietly, with Sigrid and Bain. 

“I appreciate what you’re doing for my little Sea-Monsters.”

"Da-a!" A cry of protest was heard from Sigrid, at the nickname. 

"Did they behave for you?”  Bard asked Tauriel.

“Yes, My Lord.  They are good children and they enjoyed themselves.”  A reserved smile was on Tauriel’s face.  “We stopped by a grove of trees for their midday meal, then spent some time by the Lake.”

“Glad to hear it.  And I insist you call me Bard.” He sent a sidelong look at his guard.  “Tauriel, you saved my children’s lives more than once, and I can’t thank you enough.  They’re the reason I get up in the morning.  You’re family now, and you’ll not be using highfalutin’ titles with me.”

Tauriel was taken aback, but she seemed pleased at Bard’s gratitude.  “Thank you, Lord Bard, but I must show deference to you, especially when others are present.  My King will be displeased.”

“If Thranduil objects to this, you tell him I commanded you, and he can speak to me about it.  I will not make someone who has done so much for us, be so formal.  Besides, it wouldn’t be good for the children to start calling them ‘Lord-and-Lady-This-or-That’ all the time.  I mean it.  If you’re going to be in charge of them, they need to see _you_ as the authority; and will defer to you.  I won’t have them put on fancy airs.  In private, I am just Bard, and you will never use titles for the children, except during formal ceremonies.  And you are NOT to spoil them, understand?” Bard said to her with a kind, but firm smile.

“I enjoy being with your children; it is my pleasure to look after them.”  The red-haired Elf seemed to feel more at ease, and this time, she really did smile. 

Bard gave Tilda a loud kiss on the cheek, then put her down to gently nudge her in the direction of her brother and sister.   He then spoke, his voice lowered. “Speaking of children, arrangements are being made to keep all the children out of the city during the daylight hours.  I'd appreciate it, if you'd make sure my little ones spend as much time as they can with there.  I think it will help them get past all this.  But watch Tilda carefully; if you think the noise and activity is too much for her just yet, let me know, and we’ll deal with that.” 

He didn’t need to elaborate; Tauriel understood.  “How was Tilda today?  Did she speak at all?”

“Just a few words, My Lord.”

“Just Bard, please, remember”

“But we are not in private.  I cannot.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Okay, fine.  Tell me how she was.”

“She spoke a word or two occasionally.  She did not seem fully aware of her surroundings, but she did relax a bit when we stopped near the trees at midday.  She walked quite a bit today - I only carried her when I saw she was getting tired.”

“Clever idea. The exercise will do her good.  I hear one of the Dwarves went along.”

“Yes.  The children remembered Master Bofur from Laketown, and they were glad to see him.  He had come from Erebor to make sure I was all right." she looked down and swallowed.  "I hope you did not mind he came along with us."

"Did it help you to see him, Tauriel?  I'm worried about you, too." Bard asked gently, and put his hand on her shoulder.  

She looked at him, surprised. "Yes, a little," she whispered.  

"Then I'm glad.  He's a friend to you, Tauriel.  If he helps you, and the children, then I'm all for it.  I want you to feel better, too."  He smiled at her.  

Tauriel seemed grateful, but quickly changed the subject.  "Lord Bai - my apologies - Bain and Sigrid were quite excited to see Master Bofur.  However, I believe Tilda was reminded of the Orc attack at seeing him, and she clung to me rather tightly at first.  By the afternoon, she was more comfortable around him, and even held his hand a little.  He sang them some songs while they ate, which she seemed to like.  Bofur told me he is determined to see her better.”

Bard gave a sigh of relief.  “Wonderful to hear.  It’s a start, then.  She’s got a way to go yet; they all do, but I _have to_ hope she’ll be her sweet little self again soon.”

“That is also my hope.  They are good, brave children, and I like them very much.”

“I’ve got to ask, you:  How in the world did you get the children into bed last night, and up the next morning, without me even knowing about it?  I didn’t hear a thing!  They’re usually noisy as a thunderstorm, and I’ve always been a light sleeper.” 

“I do not know.  I urged them to be as quiet as possible as they washed and dressed, and they did their best.  You were sleeping quite deeply, and did not stir.” 

Tauriel looked at him like she knew something, but he couldn't guess what it could be.  He decided it was just his imagination.  “It’s just as well.  I didn’t know I needed the sleep, until I had a good, long night of it.  It felt wonderful, to tell you the truth."

Bard looked to the children, who were standing next to his guard, asking him questions.  The soldier, while keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings, answered them with gentle courtesy.  The Elf liked them.  He possibly even liked Bard.  

_Hmmm..._

“What do you think, Monsters?  Do you want your supper at the food tent, or do you want to go back to our quarters?”

“I want food,” said Bain.  Of course, he did.  “But I’m tired, too.  Can we eat in our tent?”  The others seemed agreeable, Tilda nodded yes.  Makes sense; a crowd of people may not be the best thing for her.   Bard reached down to pick up his youngest again, stroking her hair.

“That sounds fine.  But first, do you want to go see Auntie Hil and say a quick hello?”  Bard looked at Tilda, giving her nose a little boop, “And you know she always has a hug and kiss just for her Beanie; what do you think, darling?”

Tilda’s eyes brightened a bit and she nodded her head.  Good.  Hilda will be a help to get his little one back to herself.  He also wanted to talk with her about holding meetings in the mornings, right after the children have gone for the day.

“Alrighty then, let’s go!  Come on, Tauriel, you too!”  Bard turned to the guard.  “When we get back to our tent, could you send someone to scare us up our supper?”

“Of course, My Lord.  It would be my pleasure, My Lord.”

The Bowman squinted at him.  “There’s no need to be sarcastic, you know.”

“My deepest apologies, My Lord.”  The guard smiled at him. 

Bard narrowed his eyes at the Elven Guard.  “Have it your way, then.  You may _not_ be invited to drop my title,” he informed him, with a crook of an eyebrow.

“I would never think to do otherwise, My Lord.”  His guard kept a straight face, but the corner of his mouth tugged up ever so slightly.

Bard might just learn to like this elf.

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Fînlossen –_ “Snowy Mane” the white stallion Thranduil gave to Bard.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elvenking reflects upon the past and present, and all the changes taking place in his life, and in his heart, since the Battle of the Five Armies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that [bereniceofdale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/pseuds/bereniceofdale/works?fandom_id=541478) has 17 works on AO3? You'll like them. Did you also know that Creepy Scientist on her [tumblr page](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/) has some wonderful art celebrating my OTP, Barduil? You'll love them!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy Chapter Five!

 

 

After Bard left his tent, Thranduil heard progress reports from Galion and Feren as to the removal of the Enemy from Dale’s streets and the field, the cleanup on the city streets and other matters.  Overall, he was pleased, his top staff were doing their best to keep things well-organized and at a rapid pace.

When they left, he sat on his temporary throne and closed his eyes, to have a few moments of quiet.  He was weary and drained, but not in a detrimental way.  He and Bard accomplished much during their first meeting as Kings, not the least of which, establishing their relationship; personal as well as formal.  He was tired, but it was a good type of fatigue. 

He was surprised at how he felt after unburdening himself to Bard.  It had been arduous and difficult; Thranduil had hardly ever revealed himself, save with his wife, or, when he first returned from the War of the Last Alliance, with Galion, occasionally.  Then his wife was gone, and Galion was left, but theirs was a relationship of King and Servant, and boundaries were not so easily crossed. 

Only twice has Galion taken the risk of overstepping his authority, both times for good reason. 

Sadly, _only once,_ did it really serve to change things.

~o0o~

 

 

 

> The first time was when Thranduil was brought to his father’s body on the battlefield at Dagorland, and collapsed in grief.  Galion, crying himself, threw his arms about Thranduil as they both gave into their tears.  Galion was just as bereft as King Oropher’s son; he had lost a King and friend that he loved and had devoted almost his whole life to.
> 
> For thousands of years, Galion’s days had been spent by his King’s side, and when he was killed, it seemed like a part of him had been ripped away.  The Chief Aide grieved, almost like a lover would.  Thranduil had wondered, more than once, if Galion had been in love with his father.  If he was, there was no evidence of it, except his unwavering devotion.  His mother and father truly loved each other, and their bond was unyielding.  Oropher did depend on his Chief Aide - almost constantly - but there was no mistaking that his Queen held his heart.  Still, that wouldn’t prevent one from loving the object of his affection, even if unrequited.  The heart always wants what it wants, and there is little choice to be had in these matters.  If Thranduil’s suspicions were correct, then his heart truly went out to him.
> 
> When King Oropher was killed, the Aide was, for a brief time, inconsolable, as was Thranduil.   Galion had rallied first, being older and more experienced.  Then he said and did whatever was necessary to motivate, the young King as quickly as possible, to carry on the leadership of the Army of the Woodland Realm. 
> 
> The new King hesitated; he wasn't ready!  Galion wouldn't let him balk, and demanded he think of his men.  King Oropher wouldn't have tolerated them being leaderless, whether Thranduil wished it or not.  “Grieving will have to wait for the proper time,” he told him.  “Your men’s lives are at stake _now,_ Thranduil, and they _need you!"_  Even then, Thranduil couldn't bring himself to step into the role.  As a last resort, Galion angrily demanded that he do his duty. 
> 
> "Too many of our people have died, and _I will not see you cause more pointless death because you hesitate to take your rightful place!”_ he shouted.  “GO, My Lord.  Do it!  NOW!”  And he bodily shoved him forward, and closed the tent flap after him, giving him no choice but to face his new role, his new title, and defend and protect the people his father loved.
> 
> And he did.  It had seemed cruel at the time, but Thranduil later realized, Galion had done was exactly what was needed.  Taking over leadership so suddenly was an overwhelming task, but from the moment Galion pushed him forward, he held on to his side, never once letting go of him.  Thranduil _did not_   lead that Army all on his own; hardly anyone realized the credit wasn't just Thranduil's.  The remainder of the Elves that did return, should be as grateful to Galion as they were to Thranduil for their survival.  He has tried to tell Galion this, but his Aide won’t hear of it.  The Woodland Realm was only what it was today, because of what Galion has done in service to his King.
> 
> The second time Galion lost his temper with his King was after the death of his wife.  
> 
> Again, Thranduil was inconsolable.
> 
> But, that time, he did _not_ rally. 
> 
> When he first returned to Woodland Realm after the horrors of Mordor, to reluctantly take his father’s place, he told himself there was no time for him to grieve; so much needed to be taken care of.  Thranduil had shut down, stuffed it down, and hid behind the walls surrounding his heart, like he had for countless years. 
> 
> Some centuries after his return, he met and married his wife, Mírelen, and loved her with a depth he didn't know he possessed.  When she came into his life, his heart slowly opened and began to heal, and it had changed him.  It was bliss to hold her in his arms at night, whether to merely sleep, or in the throes of passion.  She was always eager for him, and he could never get enough of her; her touches, her kisses, her skin, her hands, her breasts, her dark hair splayed out on the pillow as he was above her, bringing them both to completion, rejoicing in each other.  The first time he entered her, on their wedding day, as he came inside of her hot, wet heat, as their _fëas_ became one, Thranduil learned what a true _home_ was.  It was _her_.  Thranduil's home was in her heart, her mind, her thoughts, her laugh, and her body.  Mírelen was home to him like nothing else had ever been. 
> 
> He felt unbridled joy at the birth of their son.  Legolas was born with his father’s hair and eyes, but his face was the image of his mother.  His smile was hers, his hands were hers, his mannerisms were all hers!  He marveled at everything his little Leaf did.  When the little Prince of the Woodland Realm took his first steps, his proud father ordered a feast, to celebrate.  Another feast was held to celebrate his first word: _Ada_.  He loved watched his wife with their son, and often poked his head out of his study, to see her chase after him, because soon after walking, Legolas had decided he much preferred running _._ His parents and his guards could hardly keep up with him. They played hiding games with him, and loved singing him to sleep when he finally, _finally_ tired himself out, at the end of the day.  Legolas's favorite game was to hide under the blankets on their big bed, and jump out to scare his mother.  Mírelen would "squeal" with fright, and Thranduil would bravely fight the "monster" to defend his fair lady.
> 
> His family had brought joy to his life, and his people loved to watch them together. 
> 
> Thranduil had always taken a tour of the villages in his Kingdom to assess what they might need before winter.  He used that time to examine his forest, and make sure the trees and animals were healthy and happy.  He would stop, close his eyes and listen to their song, telling him of their year.  He loved this communion with them.  This was a gift, given to him and to all Woodland Elves, although it was most powerful in its King.
> 
> Thranduil was also given the gift of foresight by the Valar. It often helped him with predictions for his people as a whole; to prepare for famines, bitter winters, overly harsh weather, and the like.  Sometimes he'd meet with an individual, and be granted such insight.  It often helped him, but he was careful about sharing what he'd learned.
> 
> When new children were born in his Kingdom, their parents would come to the Palace to present their King with his new subject, so he could declare the child's name and receive his blessing.  Occasionally, he was able to see into the baby’s future.  No one knew this except Galion, who had quickly advised him to never reveal such things to the parents, as it could be problematic.  Each Elfling was cherished and special, he did not want to cause a rift between the ones with which the Valar granted him sight, and the ones that they did not.  Thranduil thanked his Aide several times for this wisdom - his people were peaceful, but nothing could stir up strong emotion like proud or jealous parents.
> 
> After his marriage, Mírelen insisted on going these tours with him.  “I am not just your wife now, _Meleth nin."_ She insisted.  "I am Queen of your people. I want them to know me, and to serve them, as you do.  Please?"  She put her arms around his neck and smiled up at him, with those velvet brown eyes, and long, long lashes.  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, and kissed her nose, and agreed to bring her.  She was so lovely and wonderful; he could deny her nothing.
> 
> Stars, she was _so_ _beautiful!_   Her heart was beautiful, too.  She worked hard to learn about her country and to become a good Queen, and loved her people only a little less than she loved her husband and son.  Each year after their marriage, she accompanied Thranduil on his Autumn Tour, and heart would nearly burst with pride, as he watched all the villagers gather around her.  She smiled brightly when she spoke with them, especially the children, and fussed over all the new babies.
> 
> Mírelen approached these trips differently than Thranduil had, before he married her.  He'd normally ride in, have a meal and meet with village leaders, to go over the year, and speak of things that they needed.  He'd smile and wave at his subjects, and be off a short time later with a list of things they'd need.  It wasn't unfriendly, but he tended to get right to the business of why he was there.
> 
> The first year he took his wife, things changed.  While he was in meetings, she made a point to learn the names of Elves who lived in the villages, and their families.  She listened to their stories, and wanted to know about their lives.  Mírelen had a way of making everyone feel important, be it a ruler from another realm, or the woman who washed and repaired their clothes in the Palace.  In turn, his people grew to love their Queen, almost as much as her husband did.  Thranduil would tease her about it, thanking her for allowing him the honor of accompanying her, while his subjects threw themselves at her feet.  
> 
> After Legolas was born, their son was too small to be taken on such a trip, so Mírelen stayed home.  His subjects didn't mind; they were too excited at the arrival of their tiny new Prince to mind her absence.  He continually answered their questions about his son, and was presented with many, many gifts for him; hand-knitted clothing and blankets, tiny hand-crafted toys, and countless well-wishes.  Wherever he went, glasses were filled to drink to the Legoas’ health.
> 
> As soon as Mírelen deemed him old enough, Legolas accompanied his parents on this tour, so his people could finally meet their little blond Prince.  And _oh_ , was he fussed over!  It seemed hardly possible to love his wife and son more, as he watched his Queen show off their son, like any proud parent would.  Occasionally she’d look up and their eyes would meet, so full of love for him, and for the life he'd given her, here in the Woodland Realm.  
> 
> From her first tour with him, Mírelen proved to be useful, helping Thranduil address issues hadn't thought of, such as encouraging more education for the children, and seeing that the vulnerable were treated well. She also shared news from other realms, and told them helpful things she'd learned, such as new ways of making soaps, different ways to cook and flavor foods, new medicinal discoveries, etc.  She was always looking for ways to improve their daily lives, and they appreciated her efforts.  If there were disputes and justice issues, she would sit by his side and share her thoughts on the best course of action.  He was grateful for this too, as Mírelen was gifted with perception that could discern lies. She also  suggested creative ways to solve problems.
> 
> It was the happiest time of his life.  He looked to the future, to see what life with her would bring him, but no vision came to him.  He wasn't alarmed.  Images and insights like that almost always came to him unbidden.  He took it as a sign that there was nothing to be alarmed about.
> 
> One day, when they were returning from their Autumn tour, Thranduil's gift of foresight failed him, in the worst possible way.
> 
> They were riding through the forest with their guards.  Legolas, only eleven years old, was sitting in front of Mírelen on her dark horse, sleeping.  Thranduil was astride his elk, listening to her singing to help keep their son relaxed, when, suddenly, Thranduil raised his hand to her and ordered silence.  He sat still on the Elk, and listening to the trees, who were crying out in alarm.  Quickly, he ordered three guards to surround the Queen and his son.  The instant they'd done this, a pack of Orcs appeared ahead of them.  Thranduil charged with his soldiers into the skirmish, trying to keep them away from his family.  What he didn’t know was that some Orcs had come from the opposite direction while they had been distracted.  This pack took the Queen and little Prince by surprise.  After killing her guards, one pulled Mírelen and Legolas off her horse, and she stabbed it with her knife to protect her son, while she screamed for her husband.
> 
> Thranduil felt her terror, before he heard her, and he swiftly turned the Elk around and charged toward her, screaming out her name.  It was as if time was slowing down, and all sound was gone, except for the blood pounding in his heart as he raced to her.  The Orc had grabbed her by her dark hair, then raised his sword to slay his wife, who was crouched, hiding her son, and desperately screaming for help.  Thranduil leapt off the Elk, jumping those last several yards, and sent the Orc’s head flying with a mighty roar. 
> 
> But it was too late. 
> 
> _Just a second too late._  
> 
> There she lay, blood gushing from the deep wound on her neck.  He quickly lifted her up, turned her over, and found his son who was unharmed, but terrified.  Feren was at Thranduil's side, and instantly took the little Prince in his arms, and took him away from the horrific sight, spoke to him in a low soothing tones, and tried to shush toddler's shrieks of terror.
> 
> Thranduil held his beloved Mírelen, and said her name over and over, begging her not to leave him, pressing onto her wound, trying to stop the bleeding.  She looked into his eyes, unable to speak, as the life drained out of her.  Through their bond, he felt her tell him she loved him, and made him promise to look after their son and their people.  Gradually, her eyes lost their focus, and her face lost all its color.  She looked at him, lifeless, just like his own father had done, on the field at Dagorland.  It was the same unseeing gaze, and it was unspeakable to behold. 
> 
> This couldn’t be real; it couldn't be happening.  He buried his face in her dark hair, and sobbed, telling her over and over how sorry he was that he didn't save her. 
> 
> He screamed in agony when the  _Rista-Goeol_  began, that Terrible Severing, when her part of their shared  _fëa_ left Middle Earth forever, leaving him utterly broken inside.  Thranduil was in too much anguish to notice that Feren ordered the soldiers to form a protective circle, facing outward, so their King could be given time, privacy and safety. 
> 
> Feren had taken the Prince a short distance away, so he couldn't see his _naneth_.  He was trying to calm Legolas by rubbing his back and whispering to him, but it didn't help.  The little _ellon_ could still hear his _Ada's_ frightening screams of grief, so Feren put him under a sleeping spell, to spare him.  It had helped Legolas, but now there was nothing to drown out the sound of his King's agony, Feren couldn't stop his own tears any longer.  His best friend was in agony, and the Queen they all loved, was dead.  As Legolas slept on his shoulder, Feren wept bitterly, and Dior, his First Lieutenant, arranged for litters to carry the dead to the Palace.
> 
> When Thranduil was able to open his eyes again, he saw his wife’s broken necklace on the ground.  It had been a gift for her Begetting Day, the year of Legolas’s birth.  The jewels had reminded him of her; sparkling in the light, pure, and white, just like the stars they loved to watch together.  In a daze, Thranduil had picked up the pieces of the necklace and stared at them for several minutes, still crying.  The audacity of these stones to shine so brightly in their mithril settings, while covered in her blood seemed profane; sacrilegious.  Yet they still glittered happily, unaware of the devastation that surrounded them.
> 
> He placed the broken pieces of the Gems of Lasgalen in his pocket and stumbled toward his elk, who waited patiently for him. He threw his arms around the animal’s neck, hiding his face in the warm, clean fur.  The animal, feeling his sorrow, turned his head toward him, nuzzling his back, offering what comfort he could, snuffling his sorrow to the Elvenking.  Thranduil heard all the trees weeping, their branches lowered to show respect and sympathy.  He heard the cries from the animals in the forest, as they too, tried to offer him comfort.
> 
> Thranduil turned from his Elk’s neck back towards the scene, and observed Dior approach his wife with one of the litters and set it down beside her.  With quick movements, he removed his scarlet cape and used it as a soft bedding for the Queen to lie on and gently picked her up and placed her on it.  In sad fascination, he watched the Lieutenant remove the gauntlet and vambrace from one of his arms, then tear off the sleeve of his tunic underneath.  Dior was shedding his own tears as he got down on one knee to wrap the cloth around around her neck and cover the jagged wound.  Then he walked over to his King and held out his hand. 
> 
> “I need your cape, my King.”
> 
> “My cape?”
> 
> ”Yes, My Lord.”
> 
> Bemused, Thranduil’s fingers fumbled at the fastenings.
> 
> The Lieutenant stepped forward to help.  “Here, My Lord,” he said gently.  “Let me help.”  Soon the shimmering  garment was removed.
> 
> When the Elvenking saw him drape the heavy cape over the body of his wife, and gently tuck it around her he understood.  Of course it was only fitting that she be covered with her husband's cloak.
> 
> “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He said.
> 
> Dior met his gaze and nodded.  No words could offer comfort, and Thranduil was grateful he didn’t try.  Dior helped Thranduil get settled in the saddle, while Feren put Legolas in front of him, then the group began their journey to bring the Queen of the Woodland Ream, and the bodies of her brave guards, home for the final time. 
> 
> That day had been the last time Thranduil had truly wept for anything; it had been the last time Thranduil had truly _felt anything._
> 
>  
> 
> Back then, the depth of his grief had tried its best to kill him; wanting to fade him into nothingness.  But promises he had made to his wife, had to be honored.  She wanted him survive and go on, whatever it takes.  For their son.  For their Kingdom. 
> 
> Once again, just as with his father, he pushed away the grief; pushed away everything that threatened his distance from all the sorrow.  He told himself the same lies: he had no time for this now, too much had to be done, too many people were depending upon him.  Whatever he needed to say to himself, he did, in order to stay alive, and stay with Middle Earth.  Too many were looking to him to be a strong, confident leader.  No weakness could be shown, he kept telling himself.  Ever.
> 
> For months, he walked the corridors of his Halls like a living ghost, he carried out his duties, but was never quite _present_.  He was trying, he truthfully was trying.  Mírelen’s voice was ringing through his head, saying over and over, “You promised me you won’t fade.  You cannot.  You must be here for our son.  You must.  You cannot leave him alone.”
> 
> It was taking all his energy to keep that promise.  He kept busy, by increasing his sparring and archery schedule, and anything that kept him in motion.  He never stopped moving, only sleeping when he was so exhausted, his eyes would close the moment they hit his pillow.  Their bed, a wedding gift from her parents, was too painful to sleep in.  It smelled too much like her, and it hurt to feel the dip in the mattress where she used to sleep, to see her pillows, and all of her things on her bedside table.  Instead, he used a one of the couches in the living room of their chambers.  Eventually, Galion told him he couldn't sleep on the couch indefinitely, and suggested replacing the bed with another.
> 
> He allowed Galion to have it removed, stored for Legolas, and gave his Aide free reign as to its replacement.  He couldn’t make himself care about it.  To Galion’s credit, he replaced all the furniture in the bedchamber, so what appeared in his bedchambers was much different than its former occupant, and the linens had also been replaced with ones of differing colors and designs.  It did help.  Eventually, Thranduill moved back in there, and he gradually became comfortable in it.
> 
> In time, Thranduil did grow stronger, and needed less of a frantic effort to stay in this world.  But he still couldn’t fully engage with his son.  He wanted to; he truly did, but his little Leaf so looked like his mother.  He saw her in everything the young Elfling did, like he always did, and it would send him spiraling into despair.  Legolas would look up at his father, with his his eyes and hair, but with Mírelen’s face, and it would stab his heart.  What he had once found such joy in, he now found misery.  He despised himself for feeling this way, but he didn’t know how to stop.  He couldn’t even speak of her to his son.  He couldn’t hear her name spoken anywhere.  He ordered that all her things be removed from the Palace, and her name never be spoken, so Thranduil could just get through the days.
> 
> Of course, he didn’t banish Legolas from his presence.  He'd never do that, but when Legolas did come into his study or his chambers with his caregiver, he would, after a several minutes, send him on his way.  He never sent for him.  He was avoiding the child.
> 
> And _that_ was the second time that Galion stepped in and ignored the boundaries of King and Aide.  This was not good for either father or son, and he couldn’t allow it to continue. 
> 
> “You need each other,” he told the King in a firm, angry voice.  “That child needs you and you need to see him, _really see_ him with your _whole heart_ , My Lord!  If you think pushing that little boy away will mend your heart or your _fëa_ , you are mistaken!  Legolas adores you.  The joy in his face _every time_ he sees you, _every time_ he wants to crawl into your lap is a wondrous thing, if you would only allow yourself to _look at him and see it!_   Is this what your wife would have wanted for her son?  Is this what she would have wanted for _you?”_
> 
> “ _STOP!”_   Thranduil roared, jumping up from the stuffed chair in his quarters, throwing his glass goblet against the stone wall, shattering it to pieces, leaving a large, dark red stain.  “You will not _DARE_ presume to tell ME what to do with my own son!  _YOU WILL NEVER AGAIN_ try to tell _ME_ what my wife would or would not want!  You do _NOT_ know what it’s like to lose someone you loved!”  He roared. 
> 
> Galion stood there, frozen in frustration, and deeply hurt.
> 
> Then Thranduil closed his eyes, panting, his breaths quick and shallow.  “You do not know,” he finally said, his voice in a rough whisper. 
> 
> “I know you have lost a great love.  We all loved the Queen.  But you _still_ _have_ _a great love_ , if you would only allow yourself...  Please, My Lord.  Please.”  Galion’s tears threatened to run down his face.  The King’s rebuke stung, but his purpose was too important.
> 
> Thranduil’s face was in his shaking hands, and he sat down, again.  “I…cannot,” he whispered.  “I just…cannot, Galion.  When I see him, I feel such guilt for not saving his mother.  I look into his face, and I see…”  he didn’t finish.  “I know he deserves better than this, but I cannot help seeing…her, and all that blood…  She made me promise, not to fade, and I am barely hanging on, Galion!  I am so frightened…” His words were barely audible, but somehow Galion managed to understand what he was saying.
> 
> He sat down beside Thranduil.  “You did everything you possibly could to save her, Thranduil.  I am sorry for your terrible loss, My Lord,” he said gently.  “But, it is not healthy that you never speak of it.  Perhaps it was not helpful to remove all memories of her.  You have avoided fading, and you are stronger now, but please, Sire, you _must_ _learn to live again_.  Not just for Legolas’s sake, not for your Kingdom’s sake, but for _your own_.  Please, _p_ _lease_ , don’t hide from your grief!”
> 
> Thranduil tried, he really did, but he just couldn't open up.  He continued to hide, and there was little to be done about it.
> 
> After that evening, Galion found the time to take a special interest in the Elfling, stepping in where his father could not.  Legolas continued to grow, and learned to look to Galion and his caregivers for what he needed.  Eventually, his son turned to Galion more and more, he stopped seeking out his father altogether. 
> 
> When he was a young adult, already a member of the Guard, a tiny, red-haired Elfling was orphaned by another Orc attack. Galion requested that she be placed in the Royal Wing of the Palace.  The Aide wanted a companion for the lonely Prince, and it would be good for both of them to have each other.   He also hoped that the child might help his King learn to open his heart again.  Tauriel did help Thranduil to a certain degree.  He would often look in on Tauriel when she was sleeping, or sit by her bed when she had a bad dream.  When she was awake, his smile didn't feel so forced.  But he couldn't give her the same open affection that he had once showered upon his son when he was that age.  He didn't know how anymore.

~o0o~

Looking back at those times, sitting in his tent in the ruins of Dale, Thranduil painfully acknowledged the fact that, if he'd only forced himself to allow others to help him, he might have moved past his sorrow.  He might have learned to let go of the pain, and could have known the joys of being a father.  Thranduil could have found a way, if he had only kept trying.  If he could not trust speaking in the Palace, he could have used silencing spells, he could have gone out into the forest with Galion, perhaps.  Or he could have visited Imladris and allowed Elrond to help him, as he had offered many times in his correspondence.  He could have spoken to Mithrandir on one of his visits.  But, in the end, he did not.  It became easier and easier not to try.

He had gambled on the lies he told himself, and he had lost.  Legolas was gone, along with any love he could have had for his father.

When he recalled his harsh words to Galion back then, he winced.  It must have cut Galion deeply to be accused of not knowing what love or loss was. Thranduil's grief had made him selfish and hurtful to the one who had known and loved him since birth.  Galion had always been a faithful servant, but he had been a guiding light in Thranduil's life, ever since he lost his father.  And when his own children lost their parents, he was the same guiding light for Legolas and Tauriel, making sure they always felt loved.  Thranduil had always appreciated it, but he did not always tell Galion often enough.  Perhaps that was something that should change as well.

Thranduil went over to the wine decanter, poured himself another drink, and sat back down.  He liked his temporary throne much better than the ancient, antlered seat on the Woodland Realm.  This one was cushioned and made for comfort.  The other was more to impress as a symbol of authority.  The Elvenking sat back, and continued his contemplation.  Almost effortlessly, his thoughts turned again to Bard, of the King of Dale.  He had known the man for several years, and when he rode into Dale, he noticed that Bard had not changed all that much, since their first, brief meeting on the Forest River.

~o0o~

> Thranduil had always believed in the practice of knowing everyone who worked for him, and made a point to meet each one personally.  It was a practice he observed with his father, and he saw the benefit of it.  “A good King knows his people,” Oropher would often say, “If you expect loyalty from your subjects, you must always show them why you deserve it.”
> 
> He had come to the docks on the that day, almost six years ago, to interview this new Bargeman.  The other one had retired, and the boat was purchased by another man from Laketown, to continue this work. Thranduil wanted to meet this young man and assess his qualifications, before he officially hired him.
> 
> Bard seemed a bit nervous as he sat across from the Elvenking, accepting a goblet of the wine that he was now tasked with delivering to the Woodland Realm.  They discussed his experience, his qualifications, and details of what would be required of him, and the salary involved.  He had learned that he was a widower, his wife had died giving birth to his infant daughter.  He also had another older daughter who was nine, and a son who was seven.  He seemed eager for the work, to do whatever it took, to provide them with a living. 
> 
> He got the job.  But there was more about this bargeman that piqued his curiosity.
> 
> As he sat with and spoke with Bard, he knew there was _something_ about the man sitting across from him.  The Lakeman’s face, his bearing and his voice had a sense of familiarity about them.  His face was lined with many cares, for one so young, even in the years of Men.  He seemed to be honest, and was used to hard work.  But, there was something more about him, that niggled at his memory.  Thranduil studied the Man closely, as Bard continued to tell him about himself, and suddenly he knew the reason behind his recognition.
> 
> Bard had the look of Girion, the last King of Dale.
> 
> Thranduil had known Girion’s 15th Great-Grandfather, Garon, who founded the city of Dale.  Their realms had been friendly, and there was much trade and friendship amongst their peoples.  Dale, under Garon’s rule, began to be the center of trade, industry, and culture in the North. 
> 
> His heirs worked hard to build upon that legacy, each one helping Dale to prosper.  Thranduil had known and respected each of them.  When Girion, the last King of Dale died trying to defend his city from the Dragon that came, Thranduil genuinely mourned the loss, not just of the man and most of his family, but the loss of all that the city provided for the North.  That once-fair city was ruined and had been abandoned, left to fall into decay.  Esgaroth, the nearby city on the Long Lake was also attacked, but it remained, a miserable shadow of what it once was.  Several years after, it was commonly referred to as Laketown.

~o0o~

Bard’s hair was longer now, and there were a few streaks of grey in it, which only added to his appeal.  He noticed the lines in his tanned face were a deeper, but he seemed just as strong as he had been at their first meeting, still was as powerfully built.  He still had the same courage, and regal countenance as his ancestor.  A difference, though.  Girion’s eyes had been dark brown.  Bard’s eyes were deep pools of soft brownish-green, that made him think of his trees and the forest he loved so much.   But they were just as sharp as Girion's, and held just as much intelligence and wisdom.  He was mildly interested in Bard back then, but Elvenking was _fascinated_ by him now. 

When Thranduil took him to his new quarters the previous night and helped him into his bath, he enjoyed the sight of his body.  There was dark hair on his forearms, chest and belly.  His muscles were defined by demanding work and a lean diet.  His shoulders were wide, his back straight and proud, and tapered down into a smaller waist, making a V shape.  His bottom was muscular and defined as well, rounded and firm.  His legs were long and powerful, covered in the same hair as on his chest.  What Thranduil found especially appealing, was the line of dark hair that started below his navel, and made its way down, down to the dark nest of hair above his cock.  Even unaroused, Thranduil could see its strong, thick beauty.  His body was different from an Elf but wonderful and fascinating.  Bard was simply _beautiful_. 

Thranduil took a sip of his goblet and looked up from his musings.  Galion was making his way to his table to bring him his dinner.  As the King sat down, putting his napkin in his lap, he asked Galion, “How did the arrangements go for the nursery?” 

“Excellent, my Lord.  The children will be taken over to that area starting tomorrow morning.   The Lady Hilda has asked some of the elderly to go there as well, so as to keep everyone occupied.”

“That is an excellent plan.  What about the orphans?  Did she mention anything of their fate?”

“Not at this time, Sire, but I share in your concerns” replied Galion.  

“I will ask the King of Dale tomorrow if there is anything we can do for them.  They need safe homes and new families.  If he is agreeable, we might ask that some of our people be willing to see to them, and perhaps, foster them, if there is no one available.”

“That would be a splendid idea.”  Galion’s face lit up.  The idea of having children in the Palace again obviously appealed to him. 

Thranduil didn’t want to get his hopes up.  “I urge caution, please.  It may well be, that the Laketown people would insist on keeping them with their own kind.  We will just have to see.  Something tells me that Lord Bard will not have the final say in this matter.  I think that will rest with the Lady Hilda, no matter what her King thinks about it.”  He looked at his aide with an amused face.

“Of that I have no doubt, My Lord.”  Galion smiled right back.  He bowed his head to his King, then turned to leave.

“Galion?”

“Is there something you need, My Lord?” His Aide quickly turned around.

“Yes, there is.  I do not thank you nearly enough for all that you do, to see to me, and to our people.  You have been a faithful servant and a good friend to me, just as you were to my father.  I could not have done nearly as well, had you not been by my side.  It is important to me that you know this.”

His Aide was a bit taken aback, but only those who know him well would be able to see that.  At the mention of King Oropher, Galion’s eyes looked down just a bit, but quickly regained his liege’s gaze, who had eyes so like his father…

“I…sincerely thank you, My Lord.  It has been my honor to serve you, and the Woodland Realm.  I am proud to do it.” 

“And, Galion?”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“When we are alone, I wish you to just call me Thranduil.”  It seems the Bowman has rubbed off on his new friend and colleague.

“As you wish.”  Galion smiled at him and left.

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Rista-Goeol_ \- (lit. “The Terrible Severing”) the pain an Elf bond-mate is killed when a bond-mate is killed.  If the couple were married, it is agony as part of their shared fëa, as the spouse heeds the Call of Mandos.  That is an agonizing process that only the strongest Elves can survive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Kings find themselves haunted by dreams, plus we learn a bit more about their pasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to tell you about two of my favorite stories by  LoveActuallyFan : [Drive,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5439095) and [Yes, Chef!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6572488)  
> I also love lobstergirl’s wonderful series, [The King and the Bowman](%E2%80%9D).

 

_Do you think you can defeat me, Bowman?” Smaug’s immense head gave Bard a haughty look and an evil smile.  The Dragon's eyes reflected the flames that filled the sky.  The glow that started in the belly of the Dragon traveled up to its gullet.  Then it opened its maw and spewed forth even more flames, engulfing Bard.  He screamed, and screamed, as he felt his clothes and  hair burn and disappear, and felt the agony of his flesh melting from his bones.  He needed the pain to stop.  He wanted death to overtake him and stop this pain…_

_He was in the water, now, and it felt better.  The cold water stopped the fire and soothed his burns.  He tried to swim, but couldn't move... Drifting, drifting...  He was now headed toward the shore; the waves pushing him closer and closer…  He turned his head and he saw them… Floating, beside him…  The water was filled with children’s bodies; some burned, some not…  Their eyes are closed…are they sleeping?  There were his own children, moving in the waves of the cold, cold water…  Sigrid floated over beside him, turned her head toward him; half of her face a mass of burnt flesh…  She opened her eyes and looked at him; afraid, accusing, disappointed.  “You missed, Da.  Why didn't you save me?"_

Bard woke with a start, covered in sweat, panting, and trembling so hard, his teeth chattered.  Did he cry out?  He looked over at the children.  No, they were still asleep.  Bain mumbled something on the far cot and rolled over.  Sigrid was facing away from him, her brown hair peeking out from the blankets pulled halfway over her head.  Tilda, who was next to him, was on her back, but she had kicked her covers down past her hips, so Bard quietly got up, went over to her, and pulled the blankets back up.

Then he ran outside, startling his guards, and about twenty feet away, bent over and vomited.

Footsteps stopped about five feet away.  “Lord Bard!  Are you well?  Can we fetch you a healer?” asked that annoying guard that liked to banter with him.  (He had learned his name was Daeron, three days ago, while they were walking from town with the children and Tauriel.)

After heaving a few more times, he spit out the last of the bile, as he clutched his stomach, and tried to stand up straight.  No, not yet; he groaned as he endured another round of stomach cramp, and heaving. 

Eventually, Bard stopped and tried to stand upright again, but his stomach was painfully sore.  A pair of strong, steady hands her holding his arm, which was helpful, because now, he was dizzy.

“I don’t…want to wake the children…” he croaked.

“I understand.”  He turned to the other Guard and said something in Elvish.  The Elf soon returned with one of the chairs from the table, and a cup of water, with a blanket slung over one arm.  After sitting Bard down, and bundling him up in the blanket, he felt his forehead to check for fever.  Then he held the cup to Bard, urging him to drink.  “Small sips,” he said firmly.

Bard did as he was told, and, eventually, calmed down.  His breathing became more normal.

“How is your stomach?”

“A bit better.” Bard rubbed his middle.

“Sit very still, close our eyes, and try to take deep breaths.”

 “Can you tell me what made you so ill?” Daeron asked him.

“It was a nightmare…”

“That would not be a surprise, nor uncommon, since the Battle.  Do you feel pain anywhere, now?  You have no fever, but you are still shaking.” 

“I’ll be all right in a minute.”  Bard said, still breathing heavily. 

“It would be good if you sat for a while.  You need to settle yourself,” the Elf again, turned and spoke to the other guard, and soon Bard’s coat was brought out, along with a plate.

He put on his coat, but protested at the blanket.  “I’ll be fine.”

“It is my job to make sure you are fine. Therefore, the blanket will be used until you stop your chills.” His guard had a determined look on his face, and would brook no argument.

Bard sighed, resigned to his fate, and sat down as the blanket was draped around him, again.

He hated to admit it, but he was feeling better, as he got warm.  Bard looked at his hands.  They had almost stopped shaking.  After a few more minutes, Daeron spoke again.

“Would you like your piece of bread now?  You need to have something on your stomach after this, or the cramps could start up again.”  He placed some of the bread from the plate into Bard’s hand.  “Small bites, and please keep sipping the water.”

 

Bard nibbled on the bread.  “Thank you.”

 “You are most welcome.”

“Hey.” The chewing stopped, and Bard looked up.  “I just noticed something.”

“What is that?”

“You aren’t ‘My Lording’ me all over the place.”  He gave the guard a lopsided grin.

“I am being remiss in my duties, My Lord.  My deepest apologies, My Lord.”  Daeron grinned right back at him.

“Doesn’t the other one talk?  I haven’t heard a peep out of him since you started with all this nonsense. What’s his name, anyway?”

“His name is Turamarth, and I am afraid he only speaks Sindarin, My Lord.  He is also my cousin.  He is well-accomplished in swordsmanship.  When we spar, it is usually a draw.  He usually bests me in archery, although it is always a close contest.”

Bard quirked an eyebrow.  “So, what you’re saying is, I’d be safer with _him,_ than with you?”

“No! Not at all.  Perhaps slightly.” The Elf became a bit flustered and, despite the pain in his stomach, Bard was loving every minute of it.  “He and I are equally skilled with weapons, but I am gifted in the Healing Arts.  I had spent some time in Dale before the Dragon came, and I learned the Healing Arts for the race of Men and learned to speak Westron.  So, you see, My Lord,” he said with a triumphant grin, “you are actually safer with me, My Lord." 

"You Woodfolk are a sensitive lot, aren't you?" Bard couldn't resist the jab.  Then something else he said registered.  “Wait a minute!  You knew Dale before it fell?  You knew Girion? Seriously?”

Daeron gave Bard a condescending smile.  “Of course, My Lord.”

 _Shit,_ Bard thought. _I lost that round._

Once Bard and the Elven guard were finished with their verbal sparring, and he was feeling steady on his feet, he made his way back into his tent.  He went into the bathing area and washed the sweat off his face and neck, before going back to bed.  After checking the children, he pulled down the blankets and crawled into his cot as quietly as could.  Settling under the covers, he tried to fall asleep again, but his mind wouldn’t slow down.  How could it, when so many things were happening all at once?

He tossed and turned, restlessly, trying to empty his thoughts or think of something pleasant, and all the other things he tried when this happened.  Nightmare or no, oftentimes Bard had a tough time trying to get a decent night’s sleep.  He had always been that way.  He found it difficult to settle and quiet his mind, to relax himself into slumber.

Mattie used to sing to him when he would get like this.  She would lay his head on the soft pillows of her breasts, stroke his hair and sing softly until he finally drifted off.  She had such a beautiful, sweet voice, and knew more than her fair share of songs.  She loved singing, and Bard loved hearing it.

When Bard used walk back to his house after a long day out on the water, he would hear her voice in the distance and stop sometimes, just to listen.  Then he would smile to himself, thinking how blessed he was, and would go to her and the children.   He met and loved that voice, before he ever laid eyes on her...

~o0o~ 

> She had been visiting her uncle, sent to spend the summer with her cousins, and perhaps find a husband among the wealthier citizens of Laketown.  Her father owned an orchard, and while he was far from rich, made a respectable living.  His wife’s brother had convinced him that he could find a decent husband for his daughter; one that could provide for her.
> 
> What Mattie and her family hadn’t realized then, was that the uncle’s plan was to try marrying her off to the Master of Laketown himself, thus gaining political advantage (and perhaps wealth), from the deal.
> 
> She had been introduced to the Master, who thought her suitable, and decided he would do her the great honor of pursuing her to win her hand. 
> 
> Mattie, after their first meeting, was _repulsed._
> 
> The Master had been a bit more dapper 16 years ago, but she looked through his sugary, cloying exterior and saw a man who she wanted nothing to do with.  After weeks and weeks of encouraging this union, and listening to her refusals her uncle was outraged.  Mattie’s father was sent for, to force the foolish girl to see reason.
> 
> Mattie's father came, and, upon meeting the Master, went back to his wife’s brother’s home and punched him on the jaw, sending him and two of his teeth flying.  The uncle was humiliated before the Master, and the Master was humiliated before whole town, as he was arrogant enough to announce their engagement without gaining Mattie’s or her father’s consent.
> 
> It was too late anyway.  Mattie was already in love with the handsomest man she had ever seen (so she always said), and Bard had fallen in love with the loveliest woman, with a voice like a songbird, singing the world awake in the morning (so he always said).
> 
> Her voice was the first thing Bard met.  He was maneuvering his skiff back home with his pole, after a day out fishing.  He lived in a poorer section of town, towards the back end, and he was working his vessel past one of the better neighborhoods, when he heard a voice singing.  He can’t remember the song now.  Only that the voice was perfect.  He stopped to listen, feeling like he was returning to someplace familiar, but had never been.
> 
> The singing stopped, a doorway opened on the walkway to the left, and out stepped a trio of young women.  Among them was the most beautiful girl Bard had ever seen or even dreamed of.  Her light brown hair was long, slightly wavy, and her eyes were bright, clear blue.  One of the other girls said something, causing them all to laugh, and that’s when it happened.
> 
> She smiled.  And Bard lost his ability to breathe.
> 
> As the girls made their way along the walkway, she glanced around at her surroundings, and their eyes met, and, for Bard, that was _It._
> 
> A few minutes later, one of the other girls, Mattie’s cousin, made the introductions, and Bard learned that the singing voice he had heard belonged to her, as well as her beauty, which added to the pounding of his heart.
> 
> Luckily, for Bard, this blue-eyed beauty thought he was _It,_ as well.
> 
> Soon, they were inseparable, over her uncle’s strenuous objections.  Afraid of ruining his arrangement with the Master, he had ordered her to never see the young fisherman again.  The cousins; hopeless romantics both, helped them to sneak behind their father’s back.  One of them was engaged to be married, and the other already had a beau, so, of course they wanted Matilda share in the joys of true love.
> 
> Then the conflagration between the uncle, the Master, and Mattie’s father came to pass, and it was discovered that Bard had been courting her, so introductions and inspections by her protective, but loving Da were conducted.
> 
> Bard’s father and Mattie’s were introduced, and there was some lengthy discussions as to Bard’s suitability and his ability to provide for his beloved girl.   Apparently, things went well, because the next morning, after the two men had sat up until the wee hours, talking, then drinking, then singing lewd pub songs until they both passed out, Bard was granted permission to marry Mattie, and the engagement was announced.
> 
> Their wedding was small, but lovely.  Percy stood up for Bard, and Mattie’s cousins were beside her. Her wedding ring had belonged to Bard's mother, and the cords used in their hand fasting had been used in their parent's weddings.  Bard never forgot her smiling face and shining eyes, as she spoke her vows with a clear, sure voice.  Bard's voice was quieter because he could hardly breathe; she was just so beautiful, and he couldn't believe his good fortune.
> 
> After a honeymoon trip to Dorwinian, courtesy of his new father-in-law, the newlyweds were set up in their own home.  It was modest, but cozy, and she kept a good, neat house for him, as he went out on the Long Lake to work his nets.
> 
> Soon, Sigrid, who was named after Bard’s late mother was born.  Bard held his baby, who was the image of her mother, and, as with Mattie, it was love at first sight.  Two years later, their son was born, with Bard’s eyes, and wavy black hair, Mattie wanted to name him after her Da, so they called him Bain.  They were active, fairly healthy babies, and, as they grew, kept their Ma and Da on their toes.  He was immensely proud of his children, and cherished his wife.  They were the treasures of his life – his only regret was that he couldn’t drape his wife in beautiful clothes, and give his children everything they wanted.
> 
> “Don’t you dare talk such nonsense,” she would say, arms around his neck, looking up at him with a smile.  “I have all I need, you silly man, and so do our babies.  Fancy things to wrap us up in, won’t change any of that."  Then should give him a sly grin, grab him by the hand, and drag him off towards their bed.   “Don’t believe me?  Well, I suppose I’d better show you, love.”
> 
> Then she would thoroughly remind him of his blessings.  As often as they could, they reminded each other of their blessings.
> 
> For almost five years, their family remained at four, so he and Mattie had believed their family was complete.  Then, a wonderful surprise: They were going to have another child, and Bard was over the moon.
> 
> Sigrid and Bain were happy, easy pregnancies.  But the third time Mattie carried a child within her, it seemed different.  She was tired much of the time, and her sickness in the mornings was much worse, lasting months past the time it usually settled down.  When Mattie’s pains had started in earnest, almost a month early, the midwife and Hilda shooed Bard and the children out of the house.  They were firmly ordered out, and go and keep Percy company until his presence was called for, and not one minute before then.  It was the same speech he was given before the births of his other children.
> 
> When they went to Percy and Hilda’s home, and the older man kept them all busy.   He placed Sigrid and Bain on either side of him, so he could show them the best way to mend his fishing nets.  They spent the day like that.  He taught them different knots with pieces of rope, and had them practice them until dinnertime, when the men prepared the meal and they all sat down together.  After the cleanup, they sat on the benches in front of the wood stove, and Percy started telling Sigrid and Bain stories, until little eyes were drooping, and the yawns couldn’t stop.  Percy and Bard gathered up the little ones and placed them on the spare bed to sleep.  The kids were relaxed and happy.  They had occasionally spent the night with Percy and Hilda, so, to them, little seemed out of the ordinary.
> 
> The night wore on, and Bard started pacing.  Mattie had never taken this long with Sigrid or Bain.  They had been assured that with each child, the babies usually come easier and quicker.  Then again, he told himself, babies had little minds of their own and pretty much did as they pleased, didn’t they?  Percy paced with him, sat at the table with him, and waited with him, and served up the occasional glass of ale to calm their nerves.
> 
> What happened next haunts his dreams to this day. 
> 
> The door to Percy’s home opened, and Hilda stepped in, and the look on her face told Bard what words could not, because speech failed her.  Time stood still and the room itself seemed to shift, as he covered his ears to try and stop the roar inside of him; loudly pounding in his ears and mind, his thoughts racing:
> 
> _No, no, no, no, no…, don’t take her, don’t take my wife.  She’s my heart…don’t rip me in half, and leave me to bleed, let this be a dream…please.  The baby…what about the baby, what happened to my wife and my child, no, no, no, no, please can’t be real…this isn’t happening…_
> 
> Bard gazed down at the body of his wife.  She looked so pale, so perfectly still, as if carved out of alabaster.  He noticed how her long, dark lashes brushed gently over her cheekbones.  He touched that beautiful face, that would never smile again.  That beautiful voice would never speak again, never sing again; it was silenced forever.  There was bleeding, they said.  She had had a hard time, and right after the baby had been born at last, the blood started to flow from her and it didn’t stop until it drained her very presence in this world.  He stroked her beautiful brown hair, and shared at her, trying to memorize her features, as his tears fell onto her face and sparkled in the lamplight.  He wanted this memory with him, wherever life would take him and their children.  He bent down to kiss her forehead, then her cold lips, sobbing.  It still didn’t seem real.
> 
> Hilda came over to stand next to him, crying. She reached for his hand, and he grabbed it, holding on for dear life, silently begging her to never let go.
> 
> What about the baby? Where was the baby? No, please...
> 
> He felt a hand on his shoulder.  Still holding on to Hilda, Bard closed his eyes and slowly turned, trying to muster his courage to face the rest of this tragic night. Instead, a small, warm bundle was placed in his arms, then the two women were gently easing him down into a chair.
> 
> He looked down into two beautiful blue eyes, just like Mattie’s, who regarded him with curiosity. She had her two middle fingers in her mouth, making tiny, suckling noises.  A daughter, they said.  Another little girl.  And she was fine, they said, just a little small.  He couldn’t look away from those innocent, trusting eyes, that were blinking up at him.  Tears fell on the little blanket that was swaddling his new child.  This baby deserved a smile, he told himself.  Mattie gave up everything to bring her into the world, and Bard wanted to show her she was welcome.
> 
> But he couldn't, just yet, and he hoped she would forgive him.  Instead, he lost himself in that tiny, beautiful face.  He sat in silence, for a long, long time, staring at his new daughter, and Hilda was wise and compassionate to let them be.  Finally, Bard found his voice, and managed a hoarse whisper.
> 
> “Her name will be the same as her mother,” Bard said, as he kissed her brow. “Matilda.”

~o0o~

Still awake.  Bard had to find something else to think on besides his dead wife.  Remembering the happiest time of his life should bring him peace, but it always ended with heartache and loneliness.  This was no way to try and get some more sleep.  He was trying not to think of anything gloomy which was a right job, considering all that had taken place during the past four weeks…

The image of a tall, icy blonde Elf came to his mind.  It actually came to him more often than he was ready to admit.  He knew he was drawn to him; how could he not be?  He was perfect to look at:  Those perfect, dark brows over eyes of light grey, his smooth flawless skin, and pink lips over a strong chin.  He was the image of grace whenever he moved.  He liked his hands, too, and how graceful they were, with those long elegant fingers…

Bard has always known that, to him, the male form was just as appealing as the female.  It was never any conscious decision on his part, it was just always a part of him.  He was fairly comfortable about it.  One of the things he loved about the Laketown people, and its melding of so many different races and cultures, was a general acceptance of matters of sexuality.  There will always be some, as there are in every place, who held vocal, unsolicited opinions about such things, but for the most part, it was not seen as an issue at all, and there were several couples of the same sex living alongside the others in Laketown.

Honesty, respect, and dependability, were the virtues that mattered for people who had to rely on each other so much, just to survive.  There was little gossip about who preferred what, or who didn't. “There much are better things to think on, and that is that,” the Laketown folk would say, and turn away, when one of their opinionated citizens would try to inflict others with their own brand of wisdom.

Ever since Thranduil helped him with his bath, four nights ago, Bard wondered what it would be like to see the Elf without his clothes.  It was only fair, he decided –  turnabout was fair play, was it not?  Those were fleeting thoughts, though; his waking hours were too filled with important decisions to be made.  His people needed looking after, he told himself.  Then again, he was a King, and looking after his people will take the rest of his life, and Thranduil was going to be a big part of it. 

How could he ignore all that long, blonde silky hair?  How it moved when he walked, and shone in the sun.  He was so beautiful.  What would Thranduil look like when he smiled?  Not a condescending, superior smirk, but a genuine smile.  Bard wondered about that, and he hoped he would see it.  Many images of the Elvenking flowed through his thoughts throughout his days, and most of the time, he was so busy, he could put them in the back of his mind, and get on with things.

At night, when things were quiet, it was harder to push these thoughts away.  And, he reasoned, they were at least better than these haunting nightmares.  His dream tonight of the Dragon, and the sight of all those dead bodies crept into his waking hours as well as his sleep….

Giving in to his insomnia, Bard got back up, and put on his tunic, coat and boots.  He went to the tent flap – yes, it was opened for him – and went out.  He told Daeron he needed to go for a walk to clear his head.  Leaving his other guard at the tent to watch over the children, Bard made for Girion’s old castle, attached to the Great Hall.  On the way, Daeron kept a respectable distance behind, but not enough to leave him unprotected.  When he reached the tower adjoining the castle, he walked up the steps to the top, and went over to the Eastern Parapet and looked out into the night.

 

_****************_

_Blood.  So much blood.  It was everywhere; the ground was soaked with hit.  Black blood from the countless Orcs that had been slain, was covering the ground, along with the red blood of Elves and Men.  The stench was unbearable.  Black and Red.  Evil and Good.  Thranduil stood, looking down at a small pool of it; fascinated how the two would never mix together; it swirled into ever-changing patterns…_

_His Adar’s face, fierce in battle, fair and just in his throne, and kind and loving in the Royal Chambers was before him.  It looked different.  It was frozen in death, pale, eyes half lidded; looking at nothing, no movement in his chest.  Thranduil had never seen this expression before, and couldn’t stop staring at it.  He jumped when the head slowly started moving, face turning towards him.  Oropher open his eyes fully, and became focused on his son.  “My son, you failed.  Why didn’t you save me?” he accused._

_Then his Mírelen, his beautiful wife, appeared, lying next to her father-in-law.  The wound in her neck gaped open, showing her bones and the inner workings of her throat.  Her face was not frozen, however; she was struggling to say something, but her injured throat was making it difficult.  Thranduil couldn’t go to her; he was frozen, transfixed.  Finally, she rasped out the words,_

_“Where is Legolas?”_

_In his dream, he wanted to tell her.  He tried to speak, but his lips were sealed together, he couldn’t open them.  Horrible, muffled noises were coming from him, because the words were screaming inside him to get out._

_Thranduil heard and felt movement beside him.  He looked to his right, and there was Legolas, standing, dressed as he was when he left Ravenhill…_

_Legolas left his side and walked past Oropher’s feet, and around to stand over his mother’s body, facing him.  He looked down at her and asked Thranduil, “Who is this?  Who is she? I do not know her.  She is a stranger to me, Ada.”_

_Thranduil wanted to answer him, but his mouth was still sealed shut.  He was desperate to tell him this was his Naneth, who adored him and gave her life for him.  The muscles in his face were nearly bursting with the effort to get the words out.  He brought his hands to his mouth, trying to pry his lips open._

_Oropher still looking at Thranduil, said, “She is your mother.”_

_“No!  You lie!  Legolas became angry.  “I have no mother!"_

_Mírelen struggled to turn her head towards her son, the open wound in her neck getting wider, her mouth gaping to speak, but no words would come out._

_Then the Dragon came.  It landed on the ground, some distance from the bodies, behind his son, and he crawled towards them.  He could see its eyes, its lips curled in disgust, showing its jagged teeth, mocking him, goading him, “You can save them, King. All you must do is speak of your love for them.  This is all you have to do, and I will spare them.”  Thranduil desperately tried to open his mouth, to form words, screaming, screaming. inside of himself. The Dragon looked at him with an evil smile, “No?  You do not want to save them?  Very well, you have made your choice, Elf.”  It laughed, then opened its maw and engulfed his father, his wife and his son in fire, the heat scorching Thranduil’s face, causing him writhe in agony._

_He felt arms grabbing his shoulders.  Someone was standing in front of him, shaking him, hard.  It was Galion, and he seemed oblivious to all that was happening behind his back._

_Thranduil looked at him with pleading eyes, trying to tell him about his family, about the dragon.  His voice, trapped inside of him, began to hurt, more and more.  It burned inside of him.  It burned outside of him.  The side of his face was on fire.  Agony, agony.  Please, help me Galion, please, please._

_Galion was angry.  Still shaking his shoulders, he said, “I cannot help you.  I cannot help you, because it is true.  There is no love in you.” Galion said it again and again, “There is no love in you, there is no love in you, there is no—Sire!”  Galion was shaking him even harder…_

_“Sire!  Sire!  My Lord Thranduil!  You must wake up!  You are dreaming!  Please, wake up!”_

Galion’s hands were still on his shoulders, shaking him.  The battlefield slowly receded behind his Chief Aide, the scenery was changing, changing…

He was in his bed.  He was in his tent, in the City of Dale, and shaking like the leaves of his tall, tall trees.

He had been dreaming, again.

“My Lord!  Thranduil, please!  You must wake!  Please!”  Hands still shook him firmly; Galion’s face was stricken with concern.

“I am…I am…awake.”  Thranduil managed to whisper.  He was panting rapidly, hardly catching his breath.  He clutched at his chest, as if to try to keep his heart from jumping out of it.

“You were screaming,” his Aide told him.

Thranduil closed his eyes, willing his body to calm down.  Willing his mind to clear from those horrific images… 

“I am sorry that...” He rasped.  It would seem, that sheer force of will was not effective at the moment.  He panted some more.

“Please, Sire, do not try to talk just now.  Will you be all right if I go out to the table and get you some water?  I can wait, if you like.”  Galion hated to leave.  His King looked so anxious, and his glamour had fallen.

Still clutching his chest, Thranduil nodded.

“All right.  I will be back in just a moment.  Just try to relax.”  The Aide quickly got up and returned with a both a cup of water and a full goblet of Dorwinian.   Good notion, the Elvenking thought.

“Here now, let us sit up a bit better.  Here you go.”  It irritated him a little that Galion was holding the cup to his lips, as if to baby him, but when he tried to hold the cup himself, his hands were still shaking too much to get a good grasp on it.  He took a few sips, and started to feel a bit better.  He felt sticky; his night clothes were soaked with sweat.  Even in battle, Thranduil never sweated like this.

Galion must have read his mind.  “When you are calmer, I will arrange for you to wash and change your clothes, My Lord.  Your sheets need to be changed, as well.  They are soaked.”

“Thank you.  I am starting to recover.  You said I was screaming?”

“Yes, Sire.  I came in here to bring you some fresh water, and I heard you.”

“Please, Galion, do not use my title.  We are in private.  Even if I had not asked you earlier, I would ask you now.  At this moment, I need…a friend.”

Galion tried not to be surprised. “Of course, my apologies.”  Galion wasn’t feeling chastened, he was feeling amazement.  There was an openness in his King that hadn’t been there since the before his Queen was killed.  It wasn’t a great deal, but the Aide could sense a change in him.  Whatever caused this, he felt glad for it.

Thranduil eased himself up into more of a sitting position and looked around him.  Galion had lit the lamp in his room at some point.  It was comforting.  The light and the company were starting to dissipate the horror of his dream.  He wished he didn’t remember it, but each detail was still sharp in his mind.  It was the same dream he always had, with one exception.  Legolas had never before appeared in them.  When he had these dreams, they were terrible.  This time, with his lost son added to its mix, it was unbearable.

He took stock of himself; he was sodden, and his cheek was causing him much pain.  His glamour must have fallen in his sleep.  Thranduil stilled himself, and concentrated for a few moments, placing it back.  It served not only to serve as a covering, so he could appear normal, but also as a means to numb the wound and protect the nerve endings, which will never fully heal.  If he didn’t have it, the constant pain would have driven him mad.

 

 _~o0o~_  

> After the Battle at Dagorlad, the Armies of the Last Alliance spent several years attempting to storm the Gates of Mordor.   Eventually, this was accomplished.  Their next move was to storm and overtake the Tower during the Siege of Barad-Dûr.
> 
> During the Siege, Sauron himself appeared in physical form at the base of the Tower, the One Ring on his finger, prepared to destroy the Last Alliance and all who were part of it.  Elendil, the King of Gondor had been slain and lay dead his feet.  His son, Isildur then cut the finger with the One Ring off of his hand, and the War was won.  At great cost to the Alliance, they had triumphed, the Free Peoples had prevailed.
> 
> There were immediate plans to destroy the One Ring and rid Middle Earth of its influence and its Master forever.  Alas, that was not to be.  Isildur was unknowingly overtaken almost immediately by the Ring’s power and would not yield to its destruction.  Elrond was furious.  All the Elves were furious, as was most of the Men.  The Ring could not be taken by force.  Short of throwing Isildur in the fires of Mount Doom, along with the Ring, there was nothing to be done.    Isildur had promised to keep the ring for safekeeping, despite the pleas of other leaders in the Free Army.  And, not too much later, Isildur himself, along with the Ring, were lost.
> 
> Thranduil was witness to none of this.
> 
> The year and a half before, while leading the Woodland Army, Sauron sent a Dragon to attack his troops.  After the Battle of Dagorland, Sauron had sent to the Withered Heath, East of the Grey Mountains, for several of these creatures.
> 
> All told, there were three that had been used by the Enemy in this war.  Two had the ability to fly, and one did not.  The ground Dragon, and one of the flyers, had been destroyed, leaving the last, most powerful Dragon left to fly over Middle Earth.  This one survived because it had scales like armor, and nothing could penetrate them.   After the War, this evil being flew over the lands of Middle Earth for several millennia, causing terror and destruction wherever it went, until it met its death at the hands of a Bargeman, his son, and the Last Black Arrow on Arda, during the Third Age, in the year 2941.
> 
> The other flying Dragon used in the War of the Last Alliance, was killed in the year 3439, S.A., by the Thranduil, Son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, just outside Mordor’s Black Gates.
> 
> During this skirmish, the flying Dragon was sent from the Tower of Barad-Dûr and was headed straight for Thranduil’s army.  Knowing they would be destroyed, Thranduil ran ahead, ordering his troops to stay behind, and swiftly made his way up onto the rocks at the top of a hill right in front of them.  Then, he hid behind a large boulder, waiting, with his own sword in one hand, and his Adar’s in the other, poised to strike.
> 
> All too soon, the Dragon descended.  The glow was in its belly and was starting to move up its neck; getting ready to spit fire.  As it swooped low over the hill, Thranduil leaped out from behind the rock, jumped atop it, then made an impossibly high leap into the air, as only an Elf can do.  He flipped forward in a somersault to give his sword-strikes more impetus, then uncurled his body and stabbed the Dragon in its vulnerable underbelly and held on, using the creature’s momentum against it to slice its gullet wide open, thus killing it.  But he was not unscathed.  The fire that had been building in the Dragon’s gut escaped, and it hit Thranduil dead on.  He was too close to avoid it.  Even worse, some of the Dragon’s blood had landed on one side of his face.
> 
> Most of his soldiers realized afterward, that their King knew this would most likely happen - he did not expect to survive killing the Dragon.  He was willing to sacrifice himself to save the Army, and, in turn, the population of the Woodland Realm, so that it could endure.  “A true King was a servant of his people,” King Oropher had always told his son, and Thranduil didn’t hesitate to serve.  If there had been any lingering doubt about the ability and the bravery of the new, young King of the Woodland Realm, they vanished instantly.  Thranduil earned the undying love and loyalty of his Army, and all the other Armies of the Free Peoples that were there.  Once his people back in the Greenwood learned of his deed, they were completely devoted to him. They would follow him wherever he led them; unto death if need be.  He truly earned his title as the Mightiest Warrior on Middle Earth.
> 
>  
> 
> Barely alive, and screaming with agony, Thranduil was rushed to the healing tent, where Elrond looked after him personally.  To keep him alive and to spare him constant suffering, Elrond immediately placed the Elvenking into a deep, healing sleep, in which he remained for many months.  Dragonfire was dangerous and tricky to heal but Elrond felt confident he could restore him.  He was, however, heartsick to see evidence of the creature’s blood.  For that, there was nothing that could be done; not even for the mighty Elrond, who was the best and most powerful healer on Middle Earth.  This young, brave, King, who saved his Army, and possibly the entire Alliance, deserved the best that he, with the Valar’s help, could provide.
> 
> He was given a separate tent in the Healer’s area, far away from the fighting, and the Silvan Elves of his realm were falling over themselves to volunteer for shifts to guard it.  Feren immediately stepped in and led the Army of the Woodland Realm in his King’s place, and with Galion’s help, served admirably; working well with the other leaders in the Alliance. After the Dagorland disaster, Thranduil had made the effort that his Adar did not, and was willing to accede to the commands of the High King, knowing that a combined force was the wisest, at this point.  He did not disparage King Oropher’s earlier decisions, but the situation was rapidly changing, and adaptation was necessary.
> 
> Galion looked after his King’s body while asleep:  clipping his nails, keeping the unburned parts of him washed and clean, and caring for his hair, as it grew back.  As instructed by Elrond, Galion spoke and sang to him as much as he could, speaking to him as if he were awake.  Elrond was constantly monitoring his progress, changing his bandages, and continued with the healing spells and other treatments.  The King remained in his sleep-state for over six months, waking slowly over several more weeks.  Eventually, Thranduil awoke fully.  He could take nourishment, if it was done carefully, and herbs were administered for his pain.
> 
> The burns on his body eventually healed and his skin was restored completely, all save his face.  Elrond knew better, but he still tried many remedies, hoping that something could be done. 
> 
> Just as severe as the physical pain, there had been emotional pain, when Thranduil first held a looking-glass to see the wounds.  How hard he had to struggled to accept the damage to his face!   But he had to put it into perspective: he had not expected to wake at all, thinking that he would not live through killing the Dragon.  In the end, he tried to reconcile himself to the scars, as best he could, and the Elvenking was grateful that Elrond had done as much as he did.
> 
> Elrond still had an option to help, which he presented to Thranduil once he was awake and he could be fully apprised of his condition. He still had the sight in one eye, and Elrond had told him it will adjust, and eventually compensate fully for the loss of the other, which would take almost two years.  He would also teach Thranduil how to hold a glamour, to cover and protect the wound, as well as greatly easing its pain and give him a normal appearance.  At first Elrond placed it, and kept it up.  Thranduil felt immediate relief, but he would have to learn the skill himself.  It took a considerable effort, at first, but, with a lot of practice, it eventually became second-nature to him.
> 
> This all meant that Thranduil was effectively on the injured list until he was restored to his full capability.  No effective warrior could be blind to his left side, especially the leader of an Army.  He was deeply upset by not being out there with his soldiers.  He was never that kind of leader who stayed out of the fray.  It felt cowardly.  But, for the sake of Feren and his officers, he didn’t engage in battle.  If he were to insist on being at the head of his troops, in pain, weak and half-blinded, he would put those surrounding him at risk by having to compensate for him.  That was not what a good warrior, what a good King, would do.
> 
> Thranduil detested every minute of his slow recovery; he hated sitting in the background; it went against everything he had been taught, but endangering his men, who would be distracted, trying to protect him, was out of the question. For the rest of the War, Thranduil was still in his healing tent, receiving daily reports, consulting with Feren and the other leaders, and practicing the skill of a glamour Elrond was teaching him, to hide both scars and the pain.
> 
> By the time the War was ended, he was well enough to make the return trip home unaided, and his face showed no sign of the injury, needing less effort to keep it hidden.  His vision was much better on his left side, but still needed more time, so Feren insisted on riding on the left, rather than the traditional right, for the return trip.
> 
> Feren had protected his King fiercely during the War, and he had to be physically forced to keep the order to stay back when Thranduil climbed up the hill to fight the Dragon.  He was grieved at the extent of the Elvenking’s injuries, and prayed to the Valar desperately to save him, because he had saved them.  When the bandages had come off, only Elrond, Galion, and Feren saw those scars.  His Second-in-Command would allow no one else to see them, and demanded that no one who had seen them would ever speak of it.
> 
> Within a year after returning home with his troops, Thranduil’s sight was fully restored, and it took little effort for him to keep his scars hidden; most of the time, the pain was hardly noticeable.  Only in cases of extreme physical pain or upset would it fall.

_~o0o~_

After the nightmare, the Elvenking drank several glasses of water, and half of the wine, and he was feeling somewhat restored.  He went into the bathing area, used the necessary, then washed, while Galion changed the bed with fresh sheets, Thranduil decided that he wasn’t tired enough to go back to sleep for a while, and the idea of lying there in the dark, with his mind left to wander, was unappealing.

It was still only four hours past sundown; it was fairly early into the night, so he would benefit from a walk and some air.  He dressed in a tunic, leggings, cloak and boots and, with his sword always at his side, he stepped out into the night.

After wandering for a bit, he made his way to the Tower of Garon the Founder, went up its steps to the walked to the Eastern Parapet on the top. 

There, looking out into the moonlight, was Bard, the King of Dale.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil tries to comfort Bard, as they observe the sad scene on the Battlefield, then he takes him back to his tent for a quiet drink...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter Seven, and I hope you enjoy. I had a minor heart attack the other day, when Windows 10 was updated on my laptop, and it decided to totally mess with my Word Docs. My entire file for this story was GONE. Thank heavens for my 'cloud' and also for my paranoia about losing things - I never feel secure unless ething is on a flash drive... 
> 
> I re-read the story [Dragon-Spell](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3967606), by [serentiyabrin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/pseuds/serenityabrin) recently. It's such a unique approach to their relationship, and I've always liked it. [CariZee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CariZee/pseuds/CariZee) has a lovely story called [Long Will I Tarry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3184934), as well. I think you'll enjoy it!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading my little story, and for all your kind comments!

 

Bard rested his hands on the cool stone of the wall overlooking the valley between Dale and Erebor. His fingerless gloves aided some in keeping his hands warm, but he always preferred to get the genuine feel of what he touched.

He looked out into the night, to the field below, and observed all the Elves and Men, digging the graves, with torches strategically placed to aid their ability to see. The dead of Laketown that had died in the Battle of the Five Armies, had been wrapped in the linen Thranduil provided, and reverently laid to rest near those who were killed in the Desolation  a month ago.

Bard and his people had been in  Dale two days before the Elves arrived.  After initially distributing the food, Feren approached Bard and offered his services to bury the dead that had washed up on shore, or died from injuries.  Bard gratefully accepted, his people were broken, cold and starving, and couldn't do it.  Once the bodies were identified, when possible, it was taken care of quickly.  He later learned the soldiers had all volunteered, and offered songs and blessings as they laid each one to their final rest, and actually wept over the children who had died.  News of this spread quickly throughout the Laketown folk, and much of apprehension and suspicion they had felt toward the Elves was dispelled by their emotional display.

The day of Thranduil's arrival, his people set to work with astounding speed.  A large Healing Tent had been set up within the hour, with the Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm in charge.  He and several assistants dispatched soldiers to search amongst the survivors for those who needed aide.  They were brought right away, even carried, if need be to their makeshift hospital.  At the same time, another huge tent was setup, with long tables, and stoves, to set about cooking and serving hot meals.  Feren organized and set up the camps; one for the Elves, and one for the Laketown folk, complete with tents, cots, blankets and clothing.  Fires were built, and the Elves helped Bard's people get warm and fed.  Throughout all these efforts, the Elves were patient, and compassionate; never condescending or patronizing.  Bard smiled a little, when he thought of this.  Whatever haughty, arrogant airs the Elvenking tried to project, were quickly contradicted by the actions and attitude of his Elves. The contrast was almost humorous.  Now that he was getting to know Thranduil a bit better, he couldn't understand why he had acted that way.    

Bard looked out again, and sobered.  The digging and burials were taking place around the clock, to get them finished before the funeral ceremonies. The Elves’ gravesite was larger,  many, many of those immortal lives had been cut short by the Battle.  They were laid to rest to the left of the Laketown site.  Bard was glad to see that each race must have offered help to the other, as they, shovels in hand, dug side by side during this heartbreaking job.  He didn’t know if there had been female Elves in Thranduil's army, but no matter - each deserved as much honor as could be given.  Burying dead bodies for hours on end had to take its toll on the gravediggers, so Bard made a mental note to have Percy give them all some off, once the task was finished.

The lists of the Laketown dead were as complete as Percy and his men could make them. The unidentified bodies, marred by their burns from the Dragon, had been matched, as much as possible, with the list of those missing. It wasn’t completely successful, and there were many that would never be found; men, women, and children.  Too many children...

Even in the Battle, some children had died.  They had been killed before they could be taken to the Great Hall and locked in.  Not many, but any child to die this way, was one child too many.  Bard hadn't lost any loved ones, and he was more grateful to the Valar than he could ever express, but he hurt deeply for others who had. 

Feren had assigned patrols to the shores of the Long Lake, to search for bodies, as well as usable detritus that might wash up on the beaches.  There will be no searching the waters of Laketown itself, though. Bard decreed that no one was permitted to go back into Laketown for any reason, until the stability of all the structures there could be verified.  There won’t be time for that, until after their first winter was over - their focus must be on the living.  At this point, Bard had no idea of what to do about Laketown, and he didn't want to think about it yet.

“I see you are also not abed, Dragonslayer.” The deep, resonating voice was unmistakable, as was the tall, blond figure that appeared beside him.

“Please, don’t call me that.”

“Why should I not call you Dragonslayer?  Few in Middle Earth could claim this honor. Are you not entitled to this?”

“Some would say so, but I wish they wouldn’t.  It doesn't feel like a honor at all.  I might've killed Smaug, but I wasn’t thinking of saving the city. I was only thinking of saving my children. It doesn’t feel right to be called something like that, when I was so terrified.”  The image of that enormous, wretched face from atop the bell tower, still frightened him. Especially after the dream he just had.

“Facing great danger to protect your loved ones is the noblest reason of all, Bard.  In saving your children, you saved many others. That was no accident. It was meant to be so, I think.”

“Just look out there, Thranduil!  You think the Valar orchestrated all this, just to get me back to Dale?  All this death and destruction was part of their plan?  How can you say something like that?”  Bard was angry.  “Let me tell you," he pointed to the dead, "if all this had to come about so I could be King of Dale, then I refuse!” Bard found it impossible to see how the Valar could've wanted death and mourning. He meant what he told the Elf: if all this wretchedness was what they truly wished for, then Bard wanted nothing more to do with it, or them.

“Of course, they did not, Bard, but I do understand your anger.” Thranduil said, gently. “I do not believe those graves are any part of the will of the Valar. They are not to blame in this. The fault lies with Smaug, the Orcs, Sauron, and any fell creature who were turned into servants of Morgoth."

Bard looked at him, surprised. “He _turned_ them into Dragons and Orcs? I thought he created them.”

“Yes, he did, and no, he cannot. He took other beings and manipulated them into the Dragons that cursed Middle Earth, as he also did with the Orcs or any other creature that serves evil purposes. Did you know that, originally, Orcs were made from Elves that Morgoth had captured? He didn’t have the power to create a species from nothing, but he used his power to distort and corrupt them into those vile, hateful creatures. Make no mistake, Bard: we should hate Orcs and they must be killed; there is no viable way to reason with them or turn them.  But we Elves remember and pity those who were originally captured during that Age.

“But I digress. None of those creatures we faced on the Battlefield pay homage to the Valor; their only purpose is to destroy all that we hold dear. However, all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth do.  And by our belief, the Valar can aid us into turning that evil into a better, higher purpose. All we must do is decide to look to them, and listen, when they guide us.”

Bard looked at Thranduil intently, considering his words.

“My Adar rejected the notion that 'everything happens for a reason.' It is a lie.  Senseless tragedy, war, famine, fire, is never pre-ordained from Eru, our Creator, nor do they come from any of the Valar. But, as Ada would tell me, the Valar can bring purpose into everything that happens, even if it comes from evil.  Many times, our own motives do not seem to come from their guidance, but through us, they work to fight the evils of Middle Earth in whatever means they are able.  Oftentimes, in unexpected ways.”

Bard pondered this for a moment. “It’s hard to reconcile all this, when I see all those dead being buried out there. All that grief…”

“That is difficult, I agree.” Thranduil continued. “But we believe the Valar will care for those who died, that death is never one’s ultimate fate.  Elves go to the Halls of Mandos, and are eventually brought to Valinor, while the race of Man goes where Eru himself will not reveal, but we are sure is a good place.  The Valar did not cause _anyone_ to die from all that has occurred here, but they will always care for our dead. I hope that can ease you a little.”

It didn’t.  Too many of his people were still dead, and as wise as Thranduil’s words were, it couldn’t bring them back. It still hurt. “I can hardly bear it.” Bard’s choked, eyes filled with tears. “If I could have…” He paused, “I saved my own family, but so many others are dead, Thranduil. Children died, and the grief of those parents...”  Bard stopped, and closed his eyes, trying to chase away the memories that came into his mind. “I think the images of their bodies, floating in the water will never, ever leave me.  Just hours before, they were innocent and happy, and now… Oh, Valar…” His voice broke. “There…was a baby, Thranduil. There was a tiny burnt, baby floating in the Lake. And… I couldn’t…”

A hand was placed on top of Bard’s, squeezing gently. “You did not fail them,” the Elf said. “Everything I know of you, Bard, convinces me that you gave your best efforts. You gave your utmost. Please keep in mind that _none of you_ would be alive now if you hadn’t tried so hard.” Bard’s head hung low, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to banish those images from his mind, knowing he'd never quite succeed; they would haunt him till his dying day. Thranduil’s touch was a comfort, but it would never be enough to stop the pain of it… He heard the Elf continue speaking.

“I know, as a King, what it is like to feel inadequate against so many evil forces that seek to destroy us. If my ability were as strong as my will, none of my people would be been taken from my Realm.  It is my greatest sorrow that I do not have the power to prevent this.  You and I cannot protect our people from every tragedy, Bard.  All we can do is try our best.”

“I know this in my head. I know what you say is true.” Bard whispered. “But I can’t convince my heart.” Unconsciously, he placed his hand on his chest.  "I can't stop thinking of it.  My own daughter can hardly speak, and I don't know how to help her.  Oh, Stars..."

“I am so sorry, Bard,” Thranduil said quietly, and squeezed his hand again. There was nothing more to say. There were no words that could truly comfort.

A tear rolled down Bard’s cheek. He had never really grieved about all this since the Desolation. He had been angry; his ruined sword from the other night could attest to that, but it only served to keep the heartache at bay.  He had never allowed the grief to come, there simply was no time, and there was no place he could go to let down.  There was always, always so much to be done, someone who wanted him, somewhere he had to be...  Bard tried to take a deep breath, and did his best to pull himself together, to push it away once more, but it was becoming a losing battle.  This upset him even more, because he _did_ _not_ want to be seen crying up here, in front of the _whole bloody city!_   He looked over to Thranduil with pleading eyes; unable to speak. 

****************

 

When Thranduil stepped up next to Bard and put his hands on the Eastern Parapet, he followed Bard’s gaze and saw the work being done, and the sadness of it pierced his heart. The markers of his dead had already been sent back to his Realm.  In a selfish way, Thranduil was relieved to not be there, to witness the initial grief and hear the cries of the mourning.

 

When he had first returned from the War of the Last Alliance as King, he barely managed to make it through his first task in the Woodland Realm: facing his people with so few of their loved ones remaining, and officiating at the ceremonies to honor the dead.  The worst was for his father, King Oropher. 

His mother, weak with grief, was determined to stand and sing all the songs to honor him, so Thranduil made a point to support her, as she leaned on him.  They leaned on each other, really.  He loved and idolized his father, but it was his mother who always understood him best.  She struggled mightily to stay in Middle Earth with her son, but in the end, Thranduil insisted that she sail, and took her there himself. 

Their goodbye at the Grey Havens was heartfelt and bittersweet.  He put on a brave face, and assured her they would see one another again, but he didn't want her to go any more than she did.  She held him tightly and told him, "You father says to know your people, my son, and he is right.  But I tell you to learn to know yourself, as well.  If you do this, you will find inner strength you never knew you had."  After she boarded, he stood and watched until the ship disappeared into the horizon. 

Then Galion led him to a private place, and held him tightly, as he wept bitterly.

Soon, there would be another ceremony, upon his return, to honor more dead, and he was dreading it. He dreaded listening to the songs, and the sounds of mourning. That sadness would never leave him, nor should it for any good King. This pain kept any King humble, to carefully consider what he asked of his people.  Thranduil always felt the heavy weight of guilt when he ordered his soldiers into battle, knowing that some would be going to their deaths. Outsiders saw Thranduil as cold, heartless, and selfish, but it simply wasn't so. 

When he first brought his Army to Dale, it was solely to retrieving his wife’s necklace, yes, but he never anticipated such a violent Battle. It had never his been intention to risk the lives of his people.  Thranduil had known there was only a handful of Dwarves in that mountain, and the size of his Army was only meant as a method to intimidate them. He had been so sure that there would be little to no bloodshed.

Once the news reached him that Smaug had attacked Laketown, Thranduil and Feren had a meeting.  There were several reasons to go to Dale: first and foremost was to get to the refugees as quickly as possible.  Secondly, if Thranduil had any hope of retrieving the Gems of Lasgalen, now would be the time, while there were still only thirteen Dwarves in that mountain.  The last reason for bringing the entire Army was simply a military exercise.  It had been centuries since they had assembled and maneuvered on such a grand scale, and it was opportunity to keep up their training would only served sharpen their skills. 

Feren gave his consent to all this, and Thranduil was glad of his support.  First and foremost, it was the Commander's job to protect the Army, and if he thought their lives were being needlessly risked, he would't hesitate to speak to his King.  The two had an excellent working relationship, and Thranduil gresatfsly respected his Commander’s insights and opinions. Thranduil had the power to order also this without Feren’s consent, of course, but he was never so arrogant or foolish to do so.

Commander Feren knew how badly he wanted that necklace; it was the last gift he had given to his wife, and it belonged to him, and to his son.                                                                                                        

~o0o~ 

> Several decades after Erebor was re-established in 2590 T.A. and trade relations between the Kingdoms of the North were friendly, Thranduil had taken the necklace to King Thrór and made arrangements to have it repaired.  It had been made by the Dwarves of Moria, and they were much more adept at working with Mithril than the smiths in his Kingdom.  He brought the necklace to Erebor in its original wooden box with all its carvings, which Thranduil had made himself, and met with Thrór and the Dwarven jeweler, and they settled on a fair price.  At the time, he sensed something was off about the King Under the Mountain, and his foresight told him that something terrible could happen to the Northern Kingdoms, if the Dwarvenking didn’t exercise extreme caution.
> 
> He had sent several missives to the King Thrór, warning him his constant drive to amass wealth, could attract the horrific creatures of Morgoth, but to no avail. The Sickness had overtaken the King Under the Mountain, and there was nothing to be done.  Dwarves repaired the necklace, but when he went to Erebor to get it, Thrór refused to give it to him, unless he paid triple the original fee.  Furious, Thranduil turned around and left the Kingdom of Erebor without looking back.
> 
> When the Dragon did come, as Thranduil was afraid it would, he immediately sent as much aide to the people of  Dale as possible. It pained him to learn of Girion’s death, along with most of his family. He and the King of Dale had become friends, and the Elvenking was an honored guest at many of the city’s festivals. Fortunately the line of Girion had not been completely destroyed; a small grandson had survived, and he was to be fostered by relatives, elsewhere.  Thranduil, out of respect for his friendship with the King of Dale, sent a small chest of gold and jewels to them, to help care for the boy.  He’d kept track of him, and his bloodline for a long while, but after about 100 years, he lost touch.
> 
> He ‘d offered aide to the Dwarves as well, with the food and supplies left over, once the people of Dale were helped. Thranduil didn’t feel remorseful about this. These Men were the priority, as they were innocent in all of this, and did nothing to bring this destruction upon them, Thorin didn’t see it that way. The Dwarf, angered from grief and starting to show signs of the Gold Sickness himself, demanded Thranduil bring his Elven Army to the gates of Erebor and destroy Smaug immediately.  The mere mention of fighting the Dragon caused a visceral reaction in the Elvenking. Thranduil immediately paused the meeting, and after giving his officers a command in Sindarin, left to take a few minutes to recover, until his heart and breathing returned to normal.  More than anyone alive on Middle Earth, he knew intimately what was involved with such a task.  He‘d lived through months of torture from the pain of it, with permanent scars to remind him. He flatly refused. He'd never put his people in such danger, to almost surely be destroyed.
> 
> Thorin, as Thranduil had expected, was livid, and many harsh words were exchanged between them. The Dwarf accused the Elvenking of abandoning them in their hour of need, and they argued for what seemed hours, trying to convince Thorin the futility of trying to kill Smaug, but he obstinately refused to see it.  Thranduil told him he knew the Gold Sickness took his Grandfather, and warned him that he was showing signs as well.  In the end of that meeting, Thorin told the Elf what exactly he could do with his measly offers of help, and he hoped that Thranduil would meet his end by a large log being placed in somewhere unmentionable. At this the Elvenking stalked out the room, and he and his guard left.
> 
> But just because he refused to help Thorin, did not mean he was heartless.  While Thranduil was arguing with Thorin during that meeting, the Wood Elves were quickly distributing medicine, food, and blankets to the Dwarves.  Thranduil had been purposely continuing the argument with Thorin, to buy them more time.  Just because their King was mad, didn’t mean his people should suffer needlessly. The Dwarven refugees, desperate, hungry and cold, took the help that was offered and we’re grateful. Sadly, it didn’t last.
> 
> As soon as he returned to his Palace, Thranduil had immediately written to Elrond, telling him of Smaug’s attack, as well as the Gold Sickness he suspected in Thrór’s grandson, and urged Elrond to dissuade Thorin from returning, if he could, lest the madness return.  

~o0o~ 

He looked down at the burial field with a sad sigh.  Once again, so many were being made to pay the price for the Gold Sickness of  Dwarves. It made him angry, but even he had to see that something like the Sickness caused madness, and all came from it was madness as well. The real source of all this evil was the Sauron himself and his minions.

Then he had a revelation: perhaps he was meant to come with his entire Army, and the Dwarven Army from the Iron Hills were meant to come, as well. What would've happened had they not been assembled there, when those Were-Worms first burst out of the ground, and the swarms of Orcs appeared?  Sauron had been planning that attack long before Thorin reached Erebor.  Could the Valar, having seen this, orchestrate it so that the three Armies, as well as the Eagles, would be waiting for them?

When Bard started speaking of all losses of his people, the despair and guilt within the Bowman was palpable, and he completely understood it. The two spoke a bit about the purposes of the Valar, but it brought no comfort to him. Bard had such a heavy, relentless burden on his shoulders, made worse by never having the time, nor the training, for it.  When Bard looked to Thranduil, silently begging him for help, it was clear the man was quickly losing his equanimity, and needed some privacy and protection from things for a little while.  He knew all too well what this was like, and he would make sure Bard had what he needed to get through this.

“Come, Bard.” Thranduil leaned in to whisper to him. “I think we could both use a quiet drink, do you not agree? Here.” He put his arm around Bard’s shoulder. “Come with me.” He turned Bard around and gave both his and the Bowman’s guard some instructions in his language.  Daeron left, and the Elvenking’s guards escorted them rapidly through the streets and into the warmth of Thranduil’s tent. Galion had done well to keep the lamps lit, as the light will be a source of comfort.

He had intended to sit Bard down at the table and pour him a large drink, but before he had a chance to, Bard turned and crumpled into the Elvenking’s arms, knees buckling.  He began to weep in earnest, holding on to Thranduil for dear life.  Thranduil caught Bard, as he collapsed, and held him tightly, stroking his back, as Bard pressed his face to the Elf’s chest, and sobbed as if he would never be able to stop.

The Man needed to let down; to find release.  So much had happened to him in such a short number of days, and all his people were looking to him for survival.  He was so weary, burdened, and he felt isolated, and alone.  Thranduil knew exactly how he felt. ' _You will not do this all alone,'_ Thranduil silently promised him. He continued with his ministrations, his arms around him, rubbing his hand up and down Bard’s back, all the while, uttering words of comfort in Sindarin. _“Nîr lle nesta-uva fëa, mellon nîn. Thenin lle, Bard. Thel lle pul-beleg maer aran. Thel lle.”_

While he was holding Bard so close, as his body leaned against him, with those strong arms wound around Thranduil’s waist, the Elf realized how many centuries it had been since he himself had real physical contact of any kind.  After Mírelen had been killed, almost no one even touched him, except the children, and that had been limited and only for a short while.  Galion touched him, but only when necessary; there was no comfort or affection involved.  He spent too long keeping others at bay, keeping himself locked away. 

He knew his words of reassurance to Bard were correct: These tears _will_ heal his spirit, just as much as his own tears, shed on Ravenhill, were working to heal his own.

After a long time, Bard started to calm down, but he was still unsteady on his feet.  There were only single chairs in the meeting area, and Bard was still leaning heavily into him, so Thranduil gently led him through the entrance to the sleeping area, so they could sit together on the bed.  He urged Bard to remove his coat, giving him some assistance as the man was still trying to gain his composure. He sat him down and helped him off with his boots, and urged him to move to the middle of the bed, and sit against the headboard.

Like Galion had done for him earlier, Thranduil went out to the meeting area and grabbed two goblets and the wine decanter, and returned, putting them on the bedside table. He poured generous helpings into the chalices, removed his cloak, then sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. Before he positioned himself beside Bard, he went into the bathing area, wet a cloth and handed it to Bard to wipe his face.  Bard took the cloth gratefully, and soothed his eyes with it, and blew his nose.

Handing over a cup of wine, he said, “Here, drink this, it will help.” Bard took the glass and took a sip, his breath still coming in gasps. As he calmed, he kept drinking, and finished it. He handed it to Thranduil, who gave him a large refill.

“It’s funny, I can’t seem to catch my breath tonight. This is the second time someone has had to calm me down before I pass out.”

“Really?”

“Aye; I had the worst nightmare, and your guards saw to me.  I was almost afraid to go back to sleep - that’s why you found me up on the rampart.”

“I am not surprised. With all you have seen and done, no one could be unscathed.  Many of my soldiers are afflicted with such nightmares.” Thranduil hesitated, then said, “I must confess something to you, Bard. The same reason brought me to the Tower, as well.” He didn’t feel at ease sharing things like this, but perhaps the Bowman would find comfort in it.

“You too? I’m sorry to hear that.” Then Bard was feeling guilty.  “I really shouldn’t be dumping my woes on you, when you've had a rough night, yourself.  I should go...” Bard started to move to get up.

Thranduil pulled him back into place.  “Peace, Bard. It is fine. In fact, I was rather glad to see you.”  He smiled, and held up his goblet to toast. "To misery finding company," then drank half the wine in his cup.

Bard also held out his cup, then took a long drink.  "I admit, I was happy to see you, too. It’s been a horrid night, all the way around, so I guess we wretches best get through it together. Better than being alone.”  He sat for a minute, still trying to calm himself, when his face grew concerned. “Oh, shit... My children -”

“Do not worry; your children are taken care of.  I sent Daeron to notify Tauriel, and she will stay with them. She will get them up in the morning, if need be. I did not think you  would want them to see you like this - Your eyes are swollen and red, as is your nose."

Bard gave a sigh of relief, and sat back again. “Aye, I don’t want _anyone_ to see me like this.”

“That is why I told the guards to walk in front of us, and we moved as quickly as possible.  You needed some privacy, which I am not sure you have had since you came here.  I, too, detest the idea of losing my composure publicly.”

“Thank you for that Thranduil. I mean it.”

“You are most welcome, Bard. You may stay here as long as you need. You have the distinct look of one who was weeping, and I am sure you are not in the mood to give explanations.”

“No, I'm really not.” Bard gave a small laugh, his breathing finally becoming normal.

They sat for some time, relaxing and drinking. Thranduil wanted to distract him, so he told him of Elven culture, how they revere the stars, and have a special devotion to Elbereth, and Yavanna, who ruled over the trees. Bard seemed fascinated and told him what he was taught about Valar but the people of Laketown had an affection for Ulmo, the Lord of the seas.  It was pleasant to chat about nothing important, for a change.  How long had it been since Thranduil had done this?  Bard seemed to benefit from thei innocuous chatter; he began to visibly relax and enjoy himself; his breathing had settled down, and sounded more even. 

“I can’t remember the last time I had someone look after me, like this; usually, _I’m_ the one taking care of everybody.  I’ve had to, since my wife died.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Bard.  I know how painful that is.” Thrandiul truly was. “I remember you mentioned her death when we met on the river six years ago.”

“I know your wife died, too.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, Thranduil.”

They both sat in silence for several minutes, drinking and thinking.

“What was her name?" Bard was curious.  Then he looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking things like that.”

Thranduil paused and thought for a moment. When _was_ the last he spoke of his wife? He closed his eyes.

Looking over at him, Bard saw this, and apologized again, looking to change the subject.

“It is all right. I was just thinking long it has been, since I said her name.” Thranduil marveled.

“Can you tell me when that was?”

A sigh. “Since she died.”

“Really?  Is this tradition amongst the Elves?” He didn't sound judgmental, he just sounded curious.

“It would be convenient for me to say yes, but, no, it is not. That is to say, how we handle our grief varies among my people, just as it does yours. However, you must understand that grief for an Elf is different than for Men.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how much you know about my people, but Elves oftentimes handle their grief in a…dissimilar way. But that is a talk for another time, I think.”  He changed the subject. “What do you know about Elves?”

“Almost nothing, really, but I'd like to learn more.  As King, it would be helpful to learn as much as I can about the you and the Dwarves.”

"You are correct. Girion made it his business to learn about any culture that would affect his Kingdom, and I am glad to see you will continue this."

“Before now,” Bard continued, “I hardly saw any Elves.  I only met you that one time by the river, and I'd meet up with your men, when they'd pick up your barrels.  Even then, they didn’t say much. I think only one knew Westron so the languages were a problem. Otherwise, that’s it. You Elves keep yourselves to yourselves. You always have.”

Thranduil gave Bard a wry smile. “Not always. When Girion was alive, there was much commerce between our races. I made the trip to Dale on many an occasion, and he was a good host. He was a good man.” 

“Daeron said something to me about Girion, earlier.  You really think I look like him?"

"I know you do.  Your eyes are a different color however; his were dark brown.  Your bearing and mannerisms remind me of him, as your voice is a bit like his was."

Bard shook his head, amazed.  "I know you Elves are immortal beings, but I've got to admit, it’s hard to get my mind around you knowing Girion, personally, or even being in this city, before the dragon came! It boggles the mind.” He held up his wine and gave a short laugh. “It’s not hard to boggle my mind, drinking this stuff!  But it’s good for what ails me, I can tell you that.” He held it out for Thranduil to refill, which he did.  He poured one for himself, as well, and they drank.

“I have many good memories of Dale,” Thranduil reflected. “I also remember this land before Garon the Founder came, before the Lonely Mountain was fashioned into the Dwarven city of Erebor, as well.  Immortality is a difficult concept to grasp for a Man such as yourself; I know this.  Please understand Bard: I do not want it to make you uncomfortable; this is simply who we are.”  Thranduil hesitated a bit, then said what was on his mind.  "I...do not wish it to stop us from being friends." 

Thranduil had come to really enjoy this camaraderie with the King of Dale.  It was filling some of emptiness he had lived with, for far too long. 

But was it just camaraderie? He didn't know.  All he knew for certain, was how good he felt, sitting beside him like this.  The thought that they were sitting together on his bed, brought other thoughts to his mind…  Nervously, he pretended to be interested in the wine in his cup.

“I don’t think it will, Thranduil.” He heard Bard speak softly.

Thranduil looked into Bard’s eyes.  They were deep and captivating; so like the colors of the forest he loved.  Bard held the Elf’s gaze, as each of them searched for answers to unasked questions.  Bard turned his shoulders toward him and slowly lifted a hand to caress his cheek. Thranduil closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, then opened them to meet Bard’s again.

There was stillness between them for several moments, before Bard slowly, slowly leaned in to him, his eyes taking in the details of his face. When  Bard’s gaze lingered intensely on his lips, Thranduil’s heart started to pound hard in his chest.  He brought his hand to Bard’s chest and felt the same rapid heartbeat in the Bowman. Their noses met, and gently rubbed together, and their eyes closed, breathing faster. Lips nuzzled his, back and forth slowly, and so softly it tickled, sending a thrill through him.  _Stars, this is so…,_ he couldn’t finish the thought, because Bard was kissing him, and all he could do was _feel_.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Thranduil leaned into the kiss, as more life flowed through him.  He blindly placed his goblet on the bedside table, then reached for Bard’s black hair, and run his fingers through the thick curls.  Bard moaned, and deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against his teeth, seeking entrance, which was granted eagerly.  With a small whimper, Thranduil opened his mouth wider to take him in, feeling sensations all over his body, especially in his lower belly. They shifted towards each other, kissing harder and harder, seeking, finding, feeling.  _Oh, it was wonderful_.

They broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed and mouths open. Thranduil took Bard’s cup, placed it next to its mate, and turned back to him, kissing his forehead, nuzzling his nose, and then brought his mouth to Bard’s once again, reveling in the taste of him. Reveling in the feel of this warm, strong body next to him. Reveling in the slow opening of a heart that had been closed for years upon years upon years.                                                               

 

 ***************

 

Bard was kissing the ancient King of the Woodland realm, and he could hardly believe it.

It didn’t seem real. It _couldn’t_ be real, but here was _Thranduil’s_ body under his hands, _his_ icy blonde hair that ran through Bard’s fingers.  These were his arms, his hands, his fingers stroking Bard’s hair, and his mouth, _oh..._ _that magnificent mouth..._  was exploring Bard’s with a passion matching his own.  Parts of Bard, both inside and out, parts he thought long dead, were coming to life again.  He heard the Elf moan, and it only seemed to excite them further.

_Oh, bloody fuck…_

With a loud, deep grunt, he grasped Thranduil with both arms, and pulled them down onto the bed, lying flat, with Bard on top of him.  He grabbed Thranduil’s wrists and placed them over his head, holding them, and planted his lips back on the Elf with a new determination, mouths parted. He heard Thranduil moan again; a sweet sound that send jolts of desire to his cock. His knee shifted to part Thranduil's legs, so he could lie between them, rubbing his cock against him; he couldn’t help it. He needed to be hard and aching.  As he moved, he began to nibble on the Elf’s earlobe, then slowly ran his tongue along the outside, up, up until he reached the pointed tip, and -

“ _A, MA!”_ Thranduil gasped, his hips thrusting.  Bard could feel the Elf’s hardening member underneath his clothes. He thrust downward again, and rubbed his hardened cock against Thranduil’s with a low groan, eyes closed. He nipped the tip of his pointed ear again, and the Elf’s body curled upwards, with a yelp, rubbing them together even harder. _I’ll have to remember this_ , he smiled to himself, still playing with the Elf’s ear, who responded with a soft groan and wrapped one of his long, long, legs around him, pulling him down hard, as they moved against each other.

Thranduil’s hands broke free, grabbed Bard’s face, found his mouth again, and kissed Bard like he had never been kissed in his entire life.  It was deep, hard, and _glorious._   He moaned deeply, his eyes closed tighter to wallow in all that this kiss was bringing him. He opened his mouth wider to take in even more, reaching for more, as their tongues danced together; as their hips danced together.

The kiss eventually ended, and Thranduil’s light grey eyes met his own, searching, intense, as if he was trying to give Bard his soul, wanting Bard to take it and lovingly bring it back into the light. He was amazed to find he wanted the Elvenkin to do the same for him.  Bard looked down at him, full of wonder and desire.  It’s been so long since he felt this way. He was rock hard, and was loving the sensation of rocking against Thranduil, making them both want each other more.

Not since Mattie died had he held someone like this. Or felt like this. He wanted so badly to lose all control and give Thranduil everything they both wanted, everything his own body was screaming for.  He lowered his head to kiss Thranduil once more, wanting to stay forever in this world that was only them. He loved the feel of this Elf, his warmth of his hands on Bard’s body.  It felt perfect, and he let his heart fly and his body respond.  He wanted this to last forever; and to rip his clothes off and be with him in every way possible. _Valar it felt so good…_

Unwanted, and unbidden, thoughts of his children came to the forefront of his mind.

_Oh, shit…shit!_

Bard, reluctantly, raised his head and broke apart from that splendid mouth. He pressed their forehead’s together, mouths open, breathing heavily into the other’s air, for several moments. He rubbed their noses together and smiled. “You are so beautiful.”

“As are you.” Thranduil smiled softly up at him, stroking the back of his hand over his cheek, and tracing the lines of his throat.  Bard closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and let his senses take it all in.  He took the Elf’s hand in his, and gave its palm a long kiss.  He looked down into Thranduil’s eyes, at his lips, - no, better not do that - and back up to look into that sea of light grey.  Then he forced himself to do what his body was _begging_ him not to.

“I want you.  I do.  You have no clue how much I want this.  But…this…can’t be just about loneliness and too much wine, Thranduil.  This...has to be done right.  I’ve got my children to think on, and Dale, and…well, everything."   He stroked the Elf's hair away from his face, and kissed his brow.  "I need this to be the right thing for both of us, because I would never…hurt them, and I'd never want to hurt you...”   He tried to find the right words.  “I can’t let this be an impulsive mistake, because we were reckless, and rushed into things. I’m so sorry.”  With a frustrated groan, and several curses, Bard rolled off the Elf, laying on his side to face him, head propped up on his elbow.

Thranduil seemed to be joining Bard in his suffering; he could see him trying to control his breathing, disappointment on his face.  Then, the Elf rolled on his side to face Bard, and softly laid his hand on his jaw, and ran his thumb softly across his lips.  “I also want you, and it is difficult to end this,”  he whispered, “But you are correct. We must.”

Thranduil spoke in his soft, baritone voice, that vibrated in his body, and Bard couldn’t help but feel it.  He moaned, as his cock gave a twitch, and his loins protested once more at being so rudely forced to abandon its pursuit.  _Oh, Valar, I want this Elf. I want him…_

He knew he was right to back off, for now.  He hated that fact, but it was true, nonetheless. Thranduil looked as frustrated as he was, but he turned Bard's face to his, and tried to reassure him.

“I understand, Bard. Please believe me.  As much as it pains me to admit it, we cannot; this is too important.  You know little about Elves, and what something like this means to my kind.  There are things I need to consider, as well.  I want what is good for both of us and our people.  We both need be cautious and careful.”

Giving Thranduil a chaste kiss on his lips and a small kiss on his nose, Bard rolled flat onto his back again and tried to calm his body and his heart down, and turn his mind to other things besides the desirable, stunning Elf beside him.  He noticed that Thranduil was attempting to do the same, on his back, staring up at the roof of his tent.

"If _anyone_ from Laketown doubts my dedication after this, I’ll knock their fucking teeth out,"  he groaned, eyes closed.

The Elf laughed.  “Would you like some more wine?”

“I would.” He turned back towards the Thranduil with a grin. “But only if you promise not to get me drunk and take advantage of me.”

“You have my solemn word, I will do no such thing.  But, you cannot prevent me from thinking about it.”  Thranduil’s wide smile was beautiful, showing his white, perfect teeth.  Bard had wondered what his genuine smile was like.  It didn't seem possible for Thranduil to be more beautiful, but he was.

They both moved to the top of the bed to sit side-by-side again, and Thranduil poured them each another cupful, and handed his to him.

Bard was enjoying the feel of this mattress, and the warm body beside him; he leaned over and placed another kiss on the side of Thranduil’s neck, behind his ear. He couldn’t help himself.

“I thought we agreed that we were going to proceed carefully, Bowman.”

“I am, I am! It’s your fault you know.  Just…stop sitting there, being so gorgeous.  You’re making things tough, and you’re doing it on purpose! If you would just... chop off all that hair and stop smelling so damned good…”

A genuine belly-laugh came from the Elf, this time.  Again, something that Bard had never seen.  Again, his cock twitched, punishing him for his foolishness. _Shit. I must be crazy..._

“And how do you know that I am not having the same dilemma Bowman?” Thranduil jabbed Bard with his elbow.

“Well, if it’s anything like my struggle, then I truly pity you.” Bard held out his goblet to salute him, and drank the entire contents. 

 

***************

 

Thranduil’s eyes blinked open. The light outside was illuminating the walls of his tent and noises from the morning’s bustle could be heard outside. Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings. He was lying on his side, facing the tent wall, but he wasn’t wearing his usual nightclothes; he was still wearing his tunic and leggings. There was something else that was different. His back was delightfully warm, and something enveloped him, and he heard soft snoring-

Bard was cuddled up behind him, also fully clothed, his arm wrapped around the Elvenking’s middle, breathing softly into the back of his neck. And it felt perfect.

He smiled to himself, thinking of all that occurred last night.  He had truly never intended for things to happen as they did; he had no thought of taking advantage of Bard when he took him back to sit down in the bed.  He brought him in here, thinking that Bard could just relax and rest after he had calmed down, before he would leave to go back to his tent.  That doesn’t mean to say he didn’t _wish_ it to happen, because he had; he was attracted to this Bowman.  Ever since he rode into Dale and saw Bard, he knew there was something that stirred him.  He still wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, but to Thranduil’s delight, Bard had been stirred by something as well.

Thranduil pulled the arm tighter around him and sighed, closing his eyes.  He’d never been held by someone like this; to sleep in such a protective embrace.  He had slept alone, felt alone, _was alone_ for so long he'd completely what closeness this could be like.  He closed his  eyes and luxuriated in the warmth and comfort of the feel of , wishing he never had to get up.

As much as it displeased him to admit, Bard was right about proceeding with caution.  As Kings, everything they did would affect other people, particularly Bard’s children.  He was delighted that Bard wanted to take things in careful steps.  It showed he was thinking seriously about the two of them. If the Man was only looking for physical gratification, he wouldn’t have stopped himself.  He also could have found release with someone else for a night or two, but Thranduil didn’t think so.

His senses told him Bard was the same as he was; alone and lonely, but also needing his heart to be invested in sex, not just his body.  Bard had no idea of what sex actually means to an Elf, and he didn’t wish to put pressure on Bard and tell him about it right now.  It had _nothing_ to do with the fact that Bard was a man.  Elves have never had stigmas attached to the gender of prospective mate, as was seen in other places of Middle Earth.  They didn't gossip about others' private lives, either.

He felt a stirring behind him, then there was a small snort (which was adorable).   He felt Bard stretch himself awake, moving the arm from Thranduil’s waist to finish his stretch, then raise himself up on his elbows.  Thranduil’s body ached in protest as the warmth of the Bowman’s body left his back. The Elf rolled over and moved up to sit.

He found himself suddenly feeling vulnerable; the urge to retreat inside himself, like he always did, was instinctual.What if Bard felt differently, now that he had a good night’s sleep? What if it was just the wine? What if he regrets it?  All these doubts raced through his mind, making him feel nervous, and he looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers in his tunic, trying to soothe his anxiety.

“Good morning,” said a sleepy voice.

Thranduil looked over to see his face. Bard was propped up on his elbows, smiling at him, as he rubbed one of his eyes. 

He gave Bard a cautious smile back. “Good morning, how did you sleep?”

“Like a log. That wine is pretty potent stuff.”

“It can be. I’m used to it, but sometimes it affects me too.” Thranduil tried his best to sound confident.

Bard laughed, and sat up, facing the Elvenking.  He leaned over, kissed the Elf on his temple, then his cheek, and stroked his hair.  “Look at you!” He laughed, “I didn’t know your hair could get so messy!”  He teased.

Thranduil could have kissed him, he was so relieved.  So, putting his hand around the back of Bard’s neck and drawing him close, that’s exactly what he did.  After several more kisses, he said, “I would like to point out that yours is just as messy,” he gave Bard a wry smile.

“I don’t doubt it. It’s like taming a beast, most mornings. I wish mine was straight, like yours.”

“Do not ever wish that.  I like your hair the way it is.  I like the wildness of it.  You should keep it this way.”

“I will, so long as you keep yours that way.  I’ve never seen you with a hair out of place!”

“It seems we will always be caring for our hair as normal, because I will _never_ be seen looking like this.”

“I’m shocked,” Bard deadpanned. Then he rubbed his forehead and temples.

“Do you have a headache from the wine?”

“I do, actually.  Don’t worry about it, though.  I’ve had much worse in my younger days, and lived to tell the tale.”

“Here, let me.”  Thranduil placed a hand on Bard’s forehead, and closing his eyes, said a few sentences in Quenya.  As he was repeating them, his skin took on an ethereal aspect, and the light from his hand rested on Bard where he was touching him.  When he was finished, the Bowman’s eyes opened, and he was faced with a wide-eyed stare of astonishment.

“It’s gone!  I knew elves did that, but I’ve never seen it.  Sigrid told me about Tauriel healing that Dwarf on my kitchen table.  You had this glow about you, like she did.”  Bard marveled.

“You are welcome.”

After planting a loud smack against his cheek, Bard moved to get up.  “Come on, then, we’ve got a lot to take care of today, so we’d better get started, I suppose. I need a wash, and to visit the necessary. I’m hungry, too. But first things first; I need to rinse out my mouth with some water. After all that fancy booze last night, it feels like a rag was stuffed in it.”

Thranduil smiled at him.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I also made an attempt to heal your morning breath, but alas, to no avail.”  It really wasn’t that bad, but he couldn’t resist.

“What makes you think your breath isn’t just as bad?”

“I am an Elf.”  Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

“Are you always going to use that as an excuse?”  Bard regarded him, raising his own eyebrow.

“That is my plan.”

His reply was a pillow smacked in his face.

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 

  
_Nîr lle nesta-uva fëa, mellon nin_ – Your tears will heal your spirit, my friend  
  _Thenin lle_ – You are strong  
_Thel lle pul-beleg maer aran_ \- You will be a mighty King, Bard  
_Thel lle, gweston_ – You will, I promise.  
_A, MA!_ \- OH, YES!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard meets with Hilda and Percy and tells them his vision for the new, rebuilt Dale. The children discover something new, and those who perished in the flames of Laketown and the Battle of the Five Armies are laid to rest in a meaningful way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter Eight, right on schedule. I hope you like it. Gandalf asked me if he could put in some special touches at the funeral, and, of course I said yes...
> 
> One of the longer, in-depth stories of Bard and Thranduil I've read is a series called [Circumstances](http://archiveofourown.org/series/370901), written by [Carmenta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta). I think you'll like it, too. Another Barduil story in that same vein is [No Home Should Be Shrouded in Darkness](http://archiveofourown.org/series/315338), written by [rekishi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi). 
> 
> One of the first series I read, that got me interested in Tolkien fanfiction was set in Rohan during the Lord of the Rings, and shortly after. It's called [The Rohirric Cycle](http://archiveofourown.org/series/16957) by [zeesmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zeesmuse/pseuds/zeesmuse). Please check them out; I know you'll enjoy them!  
> Thanks again for reading!

 

After breakfast, Bard left Thranduil’s tent to go to his own, for his daily reports from Percy and Hilda. The children had already been fed and gone for the day, so they sat down at the table in his tent and went over items that were pertinent and pressing. All the rest could wait until after the ceremonies tomorrow. It didn’t look like it was going to rain for the next several days, Bard told them, so things should go well.

  
“How can you be sure?” asked Hilda.

“King Thranduil has a knack for such things. He knows the trees, I guess, and he also knows the weather. Which reminds me. I should tell you, he’s predicted a harsh winter, which will be coming soon.” Bard gave a wry laugh. “As if we needed more to deal with.”

“We sure don’t! What are we gonna to do? We have the sick, and the children, and the orphans. How are we gonna survive?” Hilda exclaimed.

  
Bard had the same fears as they did, probably as all his people did. “I don’t know, Hil. I really don’t. But I can promise you I’ll do my best to get this settled before snows come.” He addressed Percy. “Have you finished with the burying of the bodies? I hate to ask, but…”

Percy heaved a great sigh, and said. “The men on the night shift finished the job.  Bard, I don’t mind telling you that was one of the _worst_...” He fished his handkerchief out of pocket and wiped his eyes.

“I know, Pers. I hated asking you to do it. I saw it from the Tower last night.” He put his hand on Percy’s shoulder. “All the men assigned to that task are have some time off, if they want. It was bad enough to see it from up there. If I were to do it…”

“Aye, I’ll see to it.”

“Speaking of which, that’s on the agenda today. We need to meet on the field after the Midday meal to rehearse the funeral some. The King’s Chief Aide will also be there. We’re going to combine them, to hopefully show respect for all that fought together.”

  
“I like that. What about the Dwarves?”

“Some’ll be there as guests, but they’ve got a tomb at the bottom of the mountain for such things. The King and I are going the day after as guests. Thranduil is bringing Feren and Galion as his Aides. Which is another thing I want to bring up with you. I want you two to come as the same for me.”

Percy and Hilda were flabbergasted. “Bard! We can’t go to something like that. That’s just for royalty and all. The only reason you’re invited is you’re the Leader of Dale!”

“Well, this is another thing I need to talk to you two about…”

Then Bard told them about all that was discussed four days ago, and about how his lineage made him King, whether he liked it or not. That he’d actually been a King for about a month, he just hadn’t known it. And, finally, as there was no other way to see to the future of Dale the way they were all hoping to, that he had accepted his fate and will be crowned.

If the older couple were stunned before, that was nothing compared to this. All they could do was stare at him, as if he had suddenly grown other heads on each side of his shoulders. And the staring went on, with their mouths hanging open.

Of course, it was Hilda who first found something to say.

“ _A King_? _A KING_?”

“Shh! Quiet down! I don’t want anyone to know yet!”

“Why not? You’re a KING for Valar’s sake! A K-.” Hilda stopped herself and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell US about your family? Bard! We’re your friends!” She was visibly hurt, as was Percy.

“I couldn’t tell anyone. The Master hated me already for marrying Mattie out from under his nose. You know he had it out for me ever since then, and I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten after you two more for associating with me. Besides, I had no right to do anything about it anyway. I'd forgotten about it, to be honest. To me, it was just stories Mam and Da told me when I was a kid. I never thought about it, until after Da died and I found the Black Arrow amongst his things. To me, was a family heirloom, not a sign of power. The children didn’t even know about it until the night the Dragon came.”

“So, when are you going to tell our folks?”

“After the funerals. I don’t want anything to take away from that. Besides, I was thinking…”

“…that our folks need somethin’ good to think on after the wretchedness of buryin’ the dead.” Percy said, and nodded in approval.

“Exactly. Which brings me to another request, and I want you two to think on this before you answer. I’d like to give you official positions in the Kingdom. I’ll end up living in Girion’s castle, and I’ll need someone I can trust to run things there, Hilda. It’s a big job, and there will be lots of things you’ll have to learn about, but I need someone that’ll be loyal, and who can keep their mouth shut. I won’t have a gossip in that position, and I won’t have someone who tolerates it from the rest of the staff.

“I also want you  to oversee the children's education. Not just mine, but all of them in Dale. I’m not asking you to teach them; you won’t have the time for that, but I need someone to be in charge of the teachers. You could appoint someone, and he or she could be answerable to you. But, I’ll need progress reports and arrangements to be made for teachers to be brought from other lands, when possible, to educate them about different culture and their language. Also, if there are any grown men or women who want to learn to read and write, I want to have them taught. The Master played on ignorance to keep himself in power. He squashed any attempts a formal school system in Laketown, and I _won’t do that_.

“Percy, I’m asking you to be my Chief Aide. I need someone by my side constantly, to oversee a lot of paperwork that’ll be put in front of me, and to make sure I’m aware of what’s going on in Dale. I want to know what everybody needs, and I’ll not have _anyon_ e falling through the cracks in the walkway because they’re left to suffer alone. I won’t run a country and have it end up like Laketown. I want _every single person_  to know that they're cared about, and won’t be forgotten! I’d want you to appoint a Chief Healer, and have ‘em get started on a Healing Hall, and see what needs to be done to train more of them.

“We’ll eventually need a proper army of our own. I’ll need your help in overseeing the military, when it comes to that. For now, the Elves will be doing what they can to protect us, but our men will need to be properly trained, if we’re to be independent, one day. That won’t be for a long while; there’s nothing else to be done on that. In the meantime, Thranduil intends to keep some of the Elves over the winter, and to help with the rebuilding, and guard us.  I know you’re the one who’ll keep what goes on in my study or meetings to yourself, and you’ll make sure papers will be only seen by the eyes they’re supposed to.

“And,” he looked at both of them. “There'll be more pomp and ceremony than any of us will like, but I’ll need help with protocol and procedure, and I won’t have time to research all that by myself.  Once the city has been fully restored, other people will come, some to visit, and some to stay. I need to be up on the customs of all these places, so we make them feel welcome. I also want them to know that we are proud of our people, and that we have the ability to run this Kingdom and keep it running for hundreds of years.

“I want you two ba cause you have only the best in mind for our people.  There's a lot to be done, and even more I want to see done.  From what I’ve heard so far, the Dwarves are planning on giving us more than our fair share of the treasure, and if all goes right, we can do this.  If this is where we’ve ended up, then we must make the most of it.  The next five years will tell us if we can succeed or fail. You are my greatest friends, and I hope you say yes, because I honestly don’t know if I’ll can do all this without you.”

Percy looked at Hilda; Hilda looked at Percy, then they both turned to look at him.

“Where’ll we be living if we’re supposed to be doing all of this?”

“There is more than enough room in the Palace. You would have your own set of rooms.”

“We’d be living in the Castle?”

“Yes, if you’re willing.”

“I don’t know about the old man, here, but a Palace sounds nice…” Then Hilda smiled. “ _Of_ _course,_ we’ll do it, Bard!" She patted his arm.  "Wouldn’t trust it to anyone else.”

Bard wanted to throw his arms around both of them. So, he did. 

 

***************

 

The arrangements for tomorrow were mostly set, reflecting the strengths and traditions of both cultures.  There was just the quick trip down to the fields for an hour or two, so they all could walk through the proceedings several times to make sure everything goes smoothly. At first, Bard had balked at this, but Thranduil and Galion told him tomorrow will be difficult - plus, he's never officiated anything, let alone something on such a grand scale. Their people were looking to them to honor their dead in the best way possible, and this effort would ensure it.

“It will be much harder than you can guess, Bard, and you need to be prepared for it. Lord Percy and Lady Hilda will need the practice as well.” Thranduil told him.  After they returned from the fields, having gone through all the steps, Bard could see the wisdom in his words.

Hilda was doing her best to avoid Thranduil, Bard said. She wasn’t used to the idea of Bard being an actual King, and she was nervous and flustered around the Elvenking.  They both found it amusing - Hilda was an force to be reckoned with, almost as intimidating as Thranduil himself, when he wanted to be.  The image of her quaking in her boots about  _anything_ seemed ridiculous.

Galion and Hilda had already spent a great deal of the time talking.  They worked together to coordinate the Children’s Tent, and several other matters, and had a good rapport.  The older couple were going to be performing the duties that Galion has done for thousands of years, so there were plans, for them to work with closely him intensely to train them.  The Chief Aide liked Percy and Hilda and was glad to be of help.

There was just this first winter to get through.  He and Bard were going to have to talk about that. Some concerns and ideas were coming to his mind.  Bard may not initially like them, but at the moment, Thranduil could think of nothing else.  All of that will have to wait until a week after the ceremonies.  The all-important negotiations with the Dwarves needed to take place.

It won’t be as terrible as he had originally thought. Most of the actual negotiations will be done with Balin, the sensible one, with final approval from Dain, who planned only to be present at the first meeting, then for the final signatures. Since all Thranduil wanted was his wife’s necklace, he had set his mind more towards making sure Bards gets everything that is coming to him, which he suspected, will be more than Bard thinks he needs. These matters will wait.

In the meantime, he is going to simply enjoy Bard’s company, as he was sitting across the table from him.

“Would you like something to drink, Bard? It has been a long day.” He could see that Bard had something on his mind.

“Just some water please. No, wait… I’ve changed my mind - I’ll take some wine after all, but just a little. That stuff hit me hard last night on an empty stomach, but it might help my nerves.” The man sighed, deeply. “I’m really not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“I feel the same way. Those things will never get easier, I’m afraid.”

“Well, you would know.” Bard looked down at his drink for a minute or two, and Thranduil could tell he had something on his mind. “I was thinking about what you said last night, Thranduil, about the Valar.  I see what you’re saying now, about how all this happened, and how they look after us, and I think you’re right.  It does help, a little.”

“I am glad.” Thranduil nodded. This wasn’t it. There was something else…

“I was also thinking about you and me.” Bard looked up at him, as he was filling Bard’s goblet. “I…really enjoyed…all that…with you, you know.”

“I am glad about that, too.” Thranduil said softly, looking into those eyes, so like his trees; brown like the branches he loved to climb, and green like the leaves that move in the wind.  He loved looking at them. Now, though, those eyes were troubled, and Bard took a deep breath.

“I’m worried, Thranduil. I’ve got to tell you this. As much as I enjoyed it, and want this…thing between us to work – and I really do - what’s happening with my city has _got_ to work. It can’t fail, or people could die.” Bard blew out his breath, and looked down at his wine.  “What if things go bad between you and me? What could happen to my people? I _have_ to put them first. I don’t want to…I’m afraid about taking any chances on my people’s survival. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, I understand, Bard. But, it is not just your people, is it?”

“No. It’s not. If what happens between us turns into something…. I don’t know…I just know that my children have had me all to themselves for a long time. I can’t just force someone into their lives, without making sure they’re ready for it. I’m their father, and that has to come first, too.  Even before the people of Laketown. I can’t hurt them by a reckless, sudden change… I need to do this carefully, if we have any chance.  Do you understand?”

Thranduil got up and walked to his chair, and took Bard’s chin and raised it up to meet his gaze. “I give you my solemn promise to not only you, but to your children, and to your children’s children, that nothing will affect my promise to help you. I hope you can believe that.” He smiled at Bard. “In fact, you don’t have to hope.  One of the things that I plan to do is put my commitment to your people in writing.  I had planned that even before last night.  There are reasons for this, beyond what you want for your people.” He looked at Bard seriously, willing him to have confidence in his words.

“Bard, no matter what happens between us, I vow to do my utmost to help your Kingdom succeed.  Like you, I believe that Dale has got to be a viable and strong part of the North.  Even if someone else had inherited this Kingdom, I would feel precisely the same way.” He moved his hand to brush Bard’s cheek with his thumb. “However, I must tell you that, for selfish reasons, I am glad it was you.” He smiled down at the Bowman.

“As for your children, I completely agree.  They do not know me, and I do not know them.  Neither one of us are the kind to trifle with such things, and I would never refuse the same consideration I would want shown to my own children if they were young.  It is early yet to even know what is between us, but I do know I wish to find out.”

He moved in closer to Bard, and kissed him thoroughly. Bard stood up, and wrapped his arms around Thranduil and pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. Then they stood and held each other for several moments, each burying their faces in the other’s neck. Thranduil reveled in every second of it. He was feeling warmed from the inside out, and the more he was given from this Bowman, the more he wanted…

He refused to think of _how it could be_ that he wanted more of Bard.  It was confusing and frightening, and...

...not possible.  Yet, he couldn't stop his heart from reaching out for him, wanting to hold him close, and never, ever let go.  

 

**************

 

Bard sat at the table in his tent, watching his children eat their supper.

After they returned from the Children’s area, they told him all about what they had done that day, and the stories that Tauriel had told all the children about her forest, and the Vala Yavanna, Queen of the Trees. Sigrid enjoyed helping with the little ones, but Bard sensed a restlessness in her. His girl had something on her mind.  He would wait until she came to him about it, but if not, he'd seek her out.

Of course, they all wanted to know why he wasn’t there, when they got up that morning. Tauriel had just told them what she had been instructed; that he had been called away in the night, nothing serious, she had told them, when they looked worried, but it required his presence.

Of course, they wanted details, which Bard had no intention of providing. “You’re going to have to get used it. I may be called away many times, until we get things running better for our folk here. So, don’t worry about your old Da, kids. All right?”

They seemed to have a good day with Tauriel and the other children, and the older two seemed to be throwing off the Battle a bit more.  He was expecting setbacks, but, overall, he wasn’t that concerned with Sigrid and Bain. He wished Tilda would show signs of her former, happy self; she was still withdrawn. Tauriel said she spoke a bit more today, and gave small little smiles, so surely that was an improvement, wasn’t it?  These first few days around all the other noisy children were proved to be too much, so Tauriel was leaving guards with the older two, and taking Tilda back to their tent in the afternoons, so they could quietly relax, and the little girl could nap, if she needed. Bard knew it would take time and patience, but he longed for some assurance that she hadn't been permanently damaged.  He wanted his baby back.

“Da? What did you do today?” Sigrid looked at him, curiously. She was fifteen, and growing up so fast. Don’t parents always say that? But these days, Bard knew why it was so true. His girl had her mother’s looks, bearing, and her strong will. It felt impossible, because it seemed to him she was only born into this world moments ago; yet there she was, as tall as her mother had been, and a poignant reminder of the woman he loved.

“Me? Oh, nothing exciting, you’d be bored to hear about it.” He had wondered about what he should say about the funerals; in the end deciding nothing, just in case it would trigger anxiety in them.

“But didn’t you see the Elf King again today?” Bain looked up from his dish and waited for an answer, still shoveling food into his mouth. “Did you see his swords? And his armor?”

“Yes, I did. They are in his tent, on a stand.”

“Really?” Bain exclaimed like any thirteen-year-old boy.

“Yes, really.” Bard smiled at his son. 

“How tall is he, really? All the Elves are tall, I mean, but he's  _really_  tall!  I remember seeing some of them, and how they could jump and flip and…”

Sigrid piped up. “I saw some of them when we walked past the healing tents. I’ve never seen anything like it. I remember Tauriel when she was healing-“

Bard cleared his throat at the two, and jerked his head slightly in Tilda’s direction.

“Sorry, Da.  So, what are the things you talk about in your meetings? And no nasty stuff, please.” Sigrid wasn’t going to stop until her curiosity was satisfied.

Bard gave a laugh. “Oh, this and that. Things about getting Dale up and running, how to make sure we're safe until the building can start, what to say to the Dwarves when we start meeting with them, all kinds of stuff.  Which reminds me: there is something important I need to talk to you Sea Monsters about.  I found out something during our meetings I think you all should know.”

All eyes were on him, even Tilda’s.

Bard braced himself. He hadn’t originally planned to tell his children of his title, and by extension, theirs, for quite a while yet, but they were bound to find out, and he wanted it to come from him. The guards constantly calling him ‘My Lord’ was certainly a clue that something was going on.

“It seems, kids, that Black Arrow of mine proved to the Elves and the Dwarves and even Gandalf, that I'm a descendant of Girion. That was why I kept it hidden, since your Grand-Da died, because the Master had enough reason not to like me, and I didn’t need him making life any worse for us. If he knew that I came from Girion’s family, he could've made things harder.  

“Thing is, kids, as it turns out, I have that Arrow not only because I'm a descendant of Girion, the last King of Dale, but I am  _the_ descendant.” Bard inhaled. “Which means that I'm Girion's heir, which also means...  He paused for effect. “That I, Bard of Laketown, am now Bard, King of Dale.”  He stopped again, just to take in their faces. “And, if I am King of Dale, that means, that you, Bain, are the Crown Prince of Dale, and Sigrid and Tilda, you are now officially Princesses.”

Absolute silence. They were frozen. Bain’s hand was halfway up to his mouth, and his spoon fell out of his hand and clattered on his plate; he didn’t even notice.  Oh, this was the most fun he had had since…well, the wee hours of this morning, actually, with a certain tall, icy blonde Elf...

They still stared at him, mouths open, with eyes as big as their plates.

Bard shrugged casually. “Of course, if you kids _don’t want_ to be a Prince and Princesses, you don’t have to, maybe we can arrange to…”

There was an explosion of noise all of a sudden, and their voices were talking at once. Eyes wide, disbelieving, babbling out questions so fast, that between them, he couldn’t understand. He looked at Tilda, whose eyes were the brightest they had been since the Battle.  Ignoring the other two, he pulled his chair out slightly, and held his arms out, for Tilda to come sit on his lap. She got down from her chair and came over, and crawled into his arms.

“Pipe down you two, I’ll answer all of your questions in a minute, all right? Don’t we want to see what Tilda has to say about this?”  He looked at his baby, “What do you think, Little Bean? Would you like to be a princess?”  She nodded at him, and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight.  But he wanted her to talk. “Do you have any questions?” She nodded again. “What do you want to know, Little Bean?”

“Will I have pretty dresses?”

Bard smiled at her and nodded. “Not right away, though, I'm sorry about that.  Soon, this whole city is going to be rebuilt, and it’s going to be all new again!  Girion’s Castle has to be all fixed up, and that’s going to take some time.  We have to make sure everybody else has a nice, warm place to live, first, don’t we?  All this is going to take a lot of work, even with the Elves and the Dwarves to help us.  So, I’m asking you all to be patient; can you do that?”  He looked around the table, waiting for their agreement, which he got. "Oh, that reminds me.  When we do move into the Castle, guess who is going to come there to live with us?”

"Who?" Bain asked.

“Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil!  They’re going to be there every day.” He smiled back to his littlest. “What do you think about that?”

This time Tilda smiled a little, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sigrid and Bain gave a whoop and clapped their hands.

“Are you friends with the Elf King now, Da? What’s he like? I mean, if you’re a King too...”

“You’re right, Sigrid. We are becoming good friends.  He wants to help me learn how to be a good King, and he enjoys having someone around that isn’t going bow and scrape to him all the time. But,” Bard said pointedly, “I expect you three to mind your best manners around him. He is a King, after all, and I expect you to bow, Bain, and I expect you girls to curtsy to him, and use his title, and be very polite.”

“But we’re princesses!” Sigrid said, looking at Tilda, who looked to her Da for the answer.

“Ah, now, my Monsters, here comes the hard part of being Royalty. As Prince and Princesses, you must be even more polite to others, especially in public, no matter what. And you're all going to have things to do.  I won’t have any of my children sit around and be idle, expecting others to do for them.” Their faces fell.  “As King Thranduil says, ‘A true King is a servant to his people.’ His own father taught him that, and he is absolutely right. That also means that you three will help serve Dale, too.  But I’m not worried; you’re all good children, and I know you’ll do your best. Won’t you?” He turned to Tilda, still in his lap and booped her nose.

Another question. “Da? If you and the Elf King are friends, can we meet him? I want to meet him!” Bain said.

“I’ve got an idea!” Sigrid said. “Can he come here for supper? I think it would be nice! Do you think he would come?”

“I don’t see why not. I can certainly ask him, if that’s all right with the rest of you.” There were eager nods all the way around. “Well, that’s settled then. How about we finish our dinner, and start with the baths, yeah?”

It was a wonderful evening. It was the closest they had come to their normal life back in Laketown, when nothing out of the ordinary would be going on, and he had never appreciated it as much as he did now.  He was devoted to his children, and he was happy to see smiles on their faces again. He'd come so close to losing them... He sighed, and give thanks.

“Da?” It was Sigrid. “Can I ask you for something?”

“What is it, Princess?” he teased.  Tilda was taking her bath first, and Bain was on his cot, staring at the ceiling; no doubt thinking about Thranduil’s swords, or princely things, or boyish things.

She smiled at this, and sat down, suddenly looking serious. She spoke quietly, not wanting the others to hear. “I’d like to go tomorrow. I think I should, and I want to.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been through so much, and I wanted you children to be spared all that…”

“I know, Da.  And you’re right to spare the children, but I’m older, and as you said, I’m a Princess of Dale.  I want to be there for our people and to be there for the Elves, too; they’ve helped us since we came here.  Even if you hadn’t told me about you being King, I was still going to ask to go.” She put her hand on his. “I want to be there for you, too, Da. I know this is going to be hard, and I want to be with you.”

Bard looked at his girl for long moment, as his eyes filled, and her imaged blurred . He swallowed and squeezed her fingers. "Thank you, darling.  It would mean a lot to me." 

Sigrid wasn't finished.  “I want to ask you something else.” Bard nodded, encouraging her to go on. “You were saying that you wanted us to have jobs.  I’ve been thinking.  I saw how the Healers and the Elves are helping everyone, and I think I want to learn how to do that, if you’d let me.  I’m not squeamish, and I know it would be hard, but I want to try.”

This girl never ceased to surprise him. He adored her strength and her steely determination, and he loved looking at that face that so reminded him of her mother. “All right, Sigrid, if that’s what you really want, I’ll see what can be set up to start your training.” He smiled at her. “I’m proud of you, sweet girl, and I know your mother would be too. When did you get to be so grown up?”

She got up and kissed the top of his head. “I was born grownup. Just like Ma.”

“Yes, you are, love.” He grabbed her hand, and kissed it. “Your Ma will never truly be gone, as long as you’re around. Always remember that.”

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “I love you, Da.”

“I love you too. Always.”

After planting another kiss on his cheek, she turned to go wash her little sister’s hair and help her out of her bath, and get Bain started. Soon, Tilda came over to him, and crawled on his lap. Her little sleeping outfit the Elves had provided for her looked toasty warm, and she had heavy slippers on her feet. She looked clean and warm and terribly cute.  Her hair was still too damp though, so Bard had her get a towel, and a brush so he could dry her hair some more. After rubbing her head some, he was combing it out gently, Tilda started talking.

“Da?” She asked quietly.

“Yes, darling?”

“I’m glad you didn’t die when the Orcs came.”

Oh, did _that_ hurt to hear from those sweet, tiny lips!  Bard tried to sound normal, which took a bit of effort.

“I’m glad too. And I thank the Valar every day that I have all you kids.”

“I thought they killed you.”

“I know, Little Bean.” He kissed her head, and kept combing out sections of her hair. “But, I want you to try to think on better things, okay? I’m here, Sigrid and Bain are here, and you still have Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil, don’t you?” She nodded her head.

She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Then a wobbly little voice was heard.

“I miss Charlotte, Da.” And a tear ran down her round cheek. He put the comb down and turned her around in his lap, and kissed her forehead.

“I know you do, love. I know.” And he put his arms around her and pulled her to him as she started to cry. He held her tight, and rubbed her back and murmured sweet words to her quietly as she finally let her sadness flow out of her. Bard felt a tear on his face, too. As much as he hated to see his baby girl cry, he was happy to see her tears.

It meant that perhaps she might be all right.

 

 

 

***************

 

Thranduil stood still as a stone statue. He had to.

If he moved, if he spoke, if he even so much as blinked, he would lose all control, and he cannot do that in front of his people who look to him to be a source of strength, steadfastness, and hope. It took almost all of his concentration just to breathe evenly; in and out, in and out…

He listened, as Feren listed the name of every ellon and elleth that sacrificed their lives in this battle.

He saw Bard standing with his people and one of his children, the oldest, he thought.  What was her name again? He knew the boy looked the image of his father, and this girl must take after her mother, with her blue eyes and hair that was a light brown. He had his arm around her, and she leaned against her father, as they offered each other support.

Radagast, Beorn, Bilbo, and Dáin, King Under the Mountain, with a small contingent of his Dwarves, were also here, to pay their respects to the fallen. He could hardly stand the sight of Dáin, but he and his people were willing to pay their respects,  not only to Bard’s people, but to his own. Falling in battle against a common enemy, Elf, Man, and Dwarf gave equal sacrifices, and deserved equal consideration.  The new King Under the Mountain understood this, which gave him hope for the Northern Kingdoms.

Bard’s Second-in Command, Percy came forward to speak of the dead of their people; their courage and bravery and many things that were good about these Laketown folk. A large bell had been found, set up in a temporary frame, and struck once for each person on the list of dead or missing. The peals of the bell seemed to last forever, but, finally it ended, the last sound lingering on and on, until it faded into nothing.

It was decided by Bard and Hilda that there would be no reading of the names, for them. It simply wasn’t their way. Even so, Bard told him that Percy wouldn’t be able to read all those names and not fall apart, and neither could he.

Thranduil’s people were soldiers, and they had known and accepted the dangers; Bard’s people were not, and the idea of saying names of innocent people, especially children might be too much to bear right now.  The people of Laketown's grief was palpable. The Elvenking marveled at how easily Bard's people held each other up, in solace. This was another sign of their strength, and another assurance that Dale will be revitalized and will eventually prosper.

The discipline and restraint of the Elven army was to be expected during this ceremony.  Thranduil would soon face the open mourning of the wives, husbands, children, parents of his  fallen, when he returned home for the services there, and their songs will be sung for a long time.

At the proper time in the ceremony, Bard and Thranduil stepped forward together, with Mithrandir between them. They slowly turned, and made their way to the mounds of earth where their people slept eternally, and stood for a long moment.  Since there were no flowers to be had, two arrangements of evergreens and branches with autumn leaves had been fashioned; carried by Sigrid and Galion, who walked behind their Kings and the Wizard. Bard turned, and Sigrid stepped forward to hand her greens to him, and stepped back in place. He walked over to the center of the grave mound of the People of the Lake, reverently placed it, and bowed. He stood silently for a minute, and walked back to stand beside the Wizard, still facing the dead.

Thranduil did the same before the graves of his own dead and, in Elven tradition, placed his hand to his heart and extended out to them, and returned to his place beside the others.

Both Kings stood still for several long minutes. Both needed moments facing away from the crowds to try to gather their composure before turning to face their people once again. To no avail. When they turned back, Bard had tears on his face, and Thranduil’s vision was blurred.

  
The Wizard, with the Kings on either side of him, paced back to the crowds. Then Bard stepped forward and said, with his voice proud and his bearing strong, a prayer for the dead that was common among his people. 

"Oh, Eru, Father of All,  
Ulmo, and all the Valar,  
who spreads out the heavens  
and rules the raging of the seas,  
we beg you to gather and receive  
into your love and protection,  
all those who go to you this day.  
Preserve their souls, and bring them to the haven  
where they would be yours to cherish and protect,  
Until we can be joined with them again in boundless joy."

 

Hilda then stepped to the front of the Laketown People, and led them in singing a song that was also well-known to them, “The Fisherman’s Hymn to Ulmo.” It was a sad song, but like the blessing that Bard gave, the words gave promise to seeing their loved ones again someday. Thranduil hadn’t heard it before, and found it haunting and lovely.

It was time for him to step up and say the blessing over the Elves: 

_"O, Eru Ilúvitar!_  
_Bannos hîr i firn!_  
_Hîr i thŷr a thûl!_  
_Tolo a dogo vín gwaith îdh vronadui._  
_Govano i nothrim în ah i mellyn în mi Mannos"_  

Then Thranduil and all the Elves started to sing the Hymn of Varda, to guide their fëas to the Halls of Mandos. The last verse was sung in Westron, so all Free Peoples could join in wishing their loved ones a safe journey: 

_"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_  
_silivren penna míriel_  
_o menel aglar elenath!_  
_Na-chaered palan-díriel_  
_o galadhremmin ennorath,_  
_Fanuilos, le linnathon_  
_nef aear, si nef aearon!_

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel!_  
_o menel palan-díriel_  
_le nallon sí di'nguruthos!_  
_A tiro nîn, Fanuilos!_

_A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!_  
_silivren penna míriel_  
_o menel aglar elenath!_

_We still remember, we who dwell_  
_In this far land beneath the trees,_  
_Thy starlight on the Western Seas."_  

While the people of Laketown, as of this day, Dale, didn't understand most of the words, they felt strength and comfort flow through them, nonetheless. The air they breathed felt fresher and cleaner, and thoughts of the stars comforted them. Hope sprung in their hearts to ease their grief, and the people could see themselves moving on, moving past all this tragedy, yet keep the love of the ones they lost in their hearts.

As the song ended, the two Kings turned back toward the burial mounds and watched Gandalf, as he stepped ahead of them and in between the mounds of fresh dirt.   Raising his staff, the Wizard struck the ground three times; each strike sent off fireworks that burst into the sky with glittering brilliance of white, silver, and dark.

They all looked up in amazement, as the sparks morphed into the shape of birds: The white were now Sea Gulls to represent the fallen of Laketown; the grey evolved into _Mithren_ _aewe_ , Elven-birds, to represent each of the Elves that had perished, and the dark turned into Ravens to denote each Dwarf that was no more.

The Wizard, waved his hand and wielded his staff, to gather them into one large flock, flying up, up, rolling, swelling, undulating as one mass, and gaining speed.  He then sent them soaring high around the entire expanse of the Field of Desolation, making its way from where they were standing, over to the hill where Dáin and his dwarven army had first appeared, off to fly in front of the Lonely Mountain, around and back again.  It hovered high over the people and the Mounds for a moment or two, then spiraled down, and swooped low, flying in a low circle around both Burial Mounds three times. The Ravens, the _Mithren Aewe_ and Seagulls soared high once more, hovering again for a moment above the mounds, in a tight formation.

Mithrandir waved his staff and spoke loud, echoing words in _Quenya_. He struck the ground again. The Ravens broke out of the flock and headed East, toward the Lonely Mountain, as Dwarves return to the stone from which they were made. The staff struck the ground a second time, and all the Grey Elven-birds turned to the West toward the Sea. A third time, and the Seagulls turned South, towards the Long Lake: Each bird, each soul, flying away, until they were completely out of sight; to where their final destinies awaited them.

  
And, with that, thus ended the Funeral of the Dead for the Desolation of Smaug, and the Battle of the Five Armies.

 

 

 

**NOTES:**

Please be kind if I have screwed this up. I looked at Sindarin websites and Sindarin rules of grammar till my eyes started to cross…  :-P

 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

  
_O, Eru Ilúvitar!_ – Oh, Eru, God of All!  
_Bannos hîr i firn!_ – Námo, Lord of the Dead!  
_Hîr i thŷr a thûl_! - Lord of Eagles and Wind!  
_Tolo a dogo vín gwaith îdh vronadui_ \- Come and lead our Elves to lasting peace.  
_Govano i nothrim în ah i mellyn în mi Mannos_ \- May they join their family and friends in the afterlife.” 

 

 

 

**_Hymn to Elbereth Gilthoniel_ **

Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O Light to us that wander here  
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!  
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!  
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee  
In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year  
With shining hand by her were sown,  
In windy fields now bright and clear  
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

 

CREDITS:  
Thank you to this website for help with Thranduil’s blessing:  
https://realelvish.net/phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/

Thank you to this page for this lovely translation of the song of Elbereth:  
http://tolkien.cro.net/talesong/elbereth.html


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil spend some time with their own subjects, but still cross each other's paths a few times. On impulse Bard sets the Elvenking up for a bit of a surprise, but will it be good one? 
> 
> As more and more of Thranduil's heart comes to life, he doesn't know how to manage it. How can he sort it all out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Nine is here, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you endlessly for the hits, the kudos and the comments! I really appreciate it!
> 
> There is another fan fic that involves Bard that I enjoy. It's not a Barduil, story, but it's incredibly romantic and well-written by [lena1987](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6479652/lena1987) on the Fanfiction.net website. It's called [Kings and Sweemeats](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11207217/1/Kings-and-Sweetmeats), and I think you'll enjoy it. [inheritanceofgeek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritanceofgeek/pseuds/inheritanceofgeek) has written a really cute series called [New Year's Eve at the Black Arrow Inn](http://archiveofourown.org/series/378991) full of fluff and romance. It's an enjoyable read.

 

 

After the funeral, each King spent the rest of the day, as agreed, visiting the sick and wounded in the Healing Tents, then seeing the rest their people. Since the Battle, there had been little time for this, as so many things had to be arranged quickly for their comfort and safety.

With a Healer and Sigrid by his side, Bard made his way to each bed that held his folk, to sit and speak with them for a few minutes, and get apprised as to his or her condition by the Healer, and the prognosis. In three cases, the Healer was silent as to the outcome, which told the King of Dale that there would be more to add to the burial mound, and more sorrow and grief.

The Chief Healer explained how patients were not grouped according to race, as one might expect, but by the gravity of their condition. This made it simpler for the less seriously wounded to be cared for by the less experienced, under supervision. Within these groups, they were separated by sex, so as to preserve dignity and modesty, but the truly serious cases were placed next to the Healer’s tables to be closely supervised, regardless of gender. All during this visit, Sigrid was paying close attention, asking questions, and telling him she was considering this as her vocation.

Those still confined, but on the mend, spent their days visiting and cheering up the other wounded, leading songs and the men telling not-so-proper pub tales, which greatly fascinated their Elven counterparts. When Bard heard this latter news, he pretended to be shocked, sent Sigrid on a quick errand, then proceeded to tell an especially lewd one of his own, which sent them all into guffaws of laughter. While he was holding his stomach, laughing, he happened to look up again, to see Thranduil eyeing him from across the area with his eyebrows raised. Ah. Elven hearing. Well, perhaps his Elven Army would learn a thing or two once his men returned to them, wouldn’t they?

As Bard and Sigrid continued to make their way around the cots, Bard could see Thranduil and Feren, accompanied by another Elven Healer visiting their injured. While not overly demonstrative, he could see Thranduil’s concern in his eyes, and the sorrow behind them. It was plain that he cared about the members of his Army, and he could see that each was devoted to their King.

When they met in the main walkway between the rows of patients, Bard greeted him, and formally introduced his eldest daughter, who curtsied beautifully. The Elvenking nodded his head to her respectfully, kissed her hand, called her Lady Sigrid, and complimented Bard on such a beautiful daughter, which made her blush, and Bard smile with pride at his lovely girl.

Then, he felt Sigrid give him a quick elbow in the ribs and she whispered, “Ask him, Da!”

“Oh, yes, sorry, Darling,” Bard then cleared his throat, and gave a formal nod to the Elvenking.

“My Lord Thranduil, I have been officially sanctioned to invite you to dine with my children at our tent, at your convenience."

“Oh? ‘Sanctioned?’” The Elvenking raised his brows. “To whom do I owe this great honor, if the notion did not originate with you?”

“My children, of course. Actually it was Sigrid, here, but the younger ones agreed. Therefore, I'm authorized to extend the invitation.”

“I am most honored. And by extending this invitation, do you approve, or are you simply relaying a message?” He inquired of the Bowman, and Bard could see Sigrid's bemused face, in his peripheral vision.  If she was not at all used to her father being so formal, she was downright confused about this banter between her Da and the tall, blond Elf King.

“I find that I approve.” Bard was trying his best to keep a solemn look in his face.

“Again, I am most honored. And where will you be, My Lord Bard, while I am dining with your children, may I ask?”

“Ah, well, if you can tolerate my presence at this esteemed event, then I should like to join you, if I may be so bold.” 

Thranduil address Sigrid, "Would your father's attendance be agreeable to you, My Lady?"

She nodded, speechless.

“I accept your gracious invitation, Lady Sigrid, and am most honored. In fact, you and your family might enjoy dining in my tent, if you would be so kind. I have heard your brother, Prince Bain has expressed an interest in my armor and weaponry.” He gave Sigrid a regal smile. “If you children are anything like my son was when he was young, you must be curious, as to what an Elvenking's tent might be like, are you not?"

That’s right…where _was_ Legolas? Bard hasn't seen him, and he'd been too busy to ask...

“I would be delighted to host you for a meal. You may even bring your father,” Thranduil said, to Sigrid's smiling face. “Perhaps four days hence?” He took her hand and kissed it, and she blushed and curtsied again.

“Very well, it is settled, and I shall look forward to it. Now, we must be getting back to our duties, should we not?”

 

As previously agreed, King Thranduil stood next to Bard before the patients, while he thanked them for their bravery in the Battle, and Thranduil interpreted for him in Sindarin. After this, the King of the Woodland Realm gave a short speech in Sindarin and in Westron rendering his own appreciation.

Then Bard formally announced his heritage, and that he was to be crowned King of Dale, as soon as the city was ready. He vowed to do his best to be a good leader and King, and expressed confidence in the strength of his people.  His second announcement was, after today, the people of Laketown will be formally known as citizens of Dale. This was met with cheers all around, which boosted his confidence a bit.  No matter matter what he had heard, he hadn't been completely sure if this is what his people truly wanted.  He wanted the sick and the injured to be told first, as many were still suffering from the task of keeping their people free. They deserved to be the first to know. Tonight, at suppertime, he will see the rest of them, while dining in the main Food Tent.  Gandalf had offered fireworks, to celebrate.

When he and Thranduil had discussed this before, he offered the Elvenking the opportunity to say a few words at Bard’s announcement about Dale, but was refused.

“I thank you, but your people will only care about you. You must come from a position of strength, and that should not involve me. This is one of the things that you must always do, Bard. Present a strong, confident image to them, no matter what you are thinking or feeling. It is not lying,” Thranduil had said, when Bard didn’t completely agree. “Besides a ruler, you are a symbol. If there are men in your kingdom who lack confidence and hope, they will always look to you to assure them. Always. You are their strength and example. You must show them how to give their best. This helps them, Bard. Showing empathy and compassion is one thing, but giving even a hint that you are unsure and afraid, will only undermine their confidence, and make them feel unsafe.”

As always, Thranduil was right, and as always, Bard was grateful.

When they were ready to leave the Healing Tents, Sigrid asked permission to stay behind and help the healer’s aides, and to ask some more questions. Bard and Percy took a tour through his Camp, marveling at the cleverness of its design.  Each small tent group circled a fire pit with logs for sitting, creating little neighborhoods, discouraging isolation.  They sat on a log at each one, asking and answering questions, wanting to know concerns or problems they could help with. For the most part they were relatively satisfied; the Elves are working to see that they had enough food, the privies had all been dug and were adequate to meet their necessary needs, and Bathing Tents had been set up for them, along with wash lines.  Only a few were really unhappy, but these were people who were always negative, and liked to gripe.  He did his best with them, and once he realized there was no pleasing them, moved on.

Both Men and Elves worked to make sure there was wood for the fires, taking the carts out in the mornings, and filling the wagons with wood.  Some Elves served as guards, and others pointed out which trees were ready to be chopped down, as they were already dying, and helped the men in their work. Bard also was told that more wagons of firewood were being harvested in Thranduil’s realm and will be brought to store for winter months.

Under Hilda’s supervision, the women were working hard to see to everyone’s comforts as well, making use of the clothing the Elves had sent.  Needles, thread, and scissors had been provided, so they cut off the garments at the bottom, and use that fabric to make gussets along the sides and arms. Extra heavy wool fabric and furs given to them were fashioned in to warm coats. The Elves had even provided wool, so many of the women were busy making mittens, hats, scarves, and such, with the knitting needles that came. This needlework had a serendipitous benefit: a way to ease them from their despair.

They would gather during the day around one or two of the fires, or, on an inclement day, gather in the Food Tent, to work on their different projects. The women developed a camaraderie, chatting and singing while their hands were working away, cheering each other and supporting each other during this difficult time. Several men unable to do heavy work, but still needing company, gathered during the day in the Food Tent to help serve and clean up, helped with he children, or sat with the sick. They all did their best to keep busy - it was the Laketown way. 

Working together was good for the residents of Dale. Percy and Hilda were adamant that everyone be given a job to do, according to their abilities and talents, so each felt like they were contributing toward their own future. Bard was glad to hear of few conflicts and personality clashes.

The best part of the afternoon, was when Bard, Percy and Hilda visited the Children’s Tent and their playing area. It was set in an area of the city that had been cleared of all evidence of violence, as much as possible. They were within the walls of the city, so they were relatively safe, but several Elven guards were posted around them to make sure. Tauriel was with Bain and Tilda, who came up to meet him, hugging him around his waist. Tilda was smiling, still quiet, but he could see, especially amongst the happier atmosphere of little voices and giggles, that it did her world of good. It did all the children good. There were several of the elderly folk there, whose arthritic hands may have prevented them from other work, but that didn’t stop them from giving hugs, singing songs and telling stories.

He was pleasantly surprised to see several Elves amongst the little ones as well. He saw some, whose faces he recognized from the Elven Army, in tunics and leggings, laughing and playing with them. When he commented to Tauriel about their visitors, she smiled and confided that many of them came here while off-duty. Even Feren, the King’s Commander, was seen, letting some little girls play with his hair.

Bard wanted to talk to Bronwyn, who was put in charge of the children, about the orphans. This was a dilemma, and a heartbreaking one. There were just so many. He'd asked Hilda where they went at night, she assured them that they were all safe and warm. She, Bronwyn, and the Galion had set up a large tent in this same area for them, and several volunteers stayed with them.  There had been offers in the camp to house some of them, but Hilda would only allow this if the family were planned to adopt them.

 “It’s cruel to let these dearies get attached, only to be separated once these folks get a new home. I won't do it."  Thankfully, there had been families who took some, but it was not nearly enough. Bronwyn said when the off-duty Elves came to visit, she steered in the direction of an orphan, to administer what the best medicine could not provide them.

“Seems to me, Bard, these children do as much for the Elves, as they do for wee ones. I never thought I’d see the day, but ‘tis a grand thing.”

Suddenly, up stepped a surprise visitor to the Children’s Tent. Bard saw movement from the corner of his eye, turned and was shocked to see Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm approaching. He was even out of his miles of formal robes, merely wearing a tunic - a fancy blue one with silver embroidery, and soft black leather leggings. The guards, as one, turned toward him and saluted him, while the Elves within the tent quickly stood in deference to their King. The noise and action of the guards caused the children to stop what they were doing and regard the Elvenking, their eyes widening at the sight of the tall, blond Elf with the pretty, shiny thing on his head. The Elvenking responded to all this with a formal nod to his people, and a small smile to the children.

It was time for him to make formal introductions, and for Bard to have some fun…

“King Thranduil, we are honored to have you join us.” Bard gave a nod. “I'd like to present to you Percy, my Second in Command, and Hilda, who is the main reason our camp is running smoothly. Hilda, Percy, please allow me to introduce King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.”  

Hilda and Percy, eyes wide and speechless, bowed and curtsied as low as they could go and Hilda had to grab her husband’s arm to help her up again. Not surprisingly, Hilda found her tongue first. “We’re pleased to meet you, My Lord. We didn’t expect you to be gracing us with your presence - Erm... I mean to say, we didn’t, but we’re glad you did.” Hilda was actually babbling. Bard was chewing the inside of his cheek into bits trying to keep a straight face.

Thranduil, of course played this to the hilt. He nodded his head to them, saying, “I thank you Lord Percy and Lady Hilda; I am honored to meet such good friends of Bard, King of Dale. He has told me much about your efforts to serve your people and my own people have much praise for your work.”  

When the Elvenking took Hilda’s hand, bowed low and kissed her knuckles, Bard thought she might faint.  In all of the years he had known her, he had never seen her flummoxed!  

The Elvenking added, “I am told that you will be accompanying your Lord and King to the services tomorrow, honoring the late King Under the Mountain and his nephews.  I am also told few outside of their world have seen a Dwarven funeral;  it will be an honor to be counted amongst them, do you not think?  Now, Lady Hilda, would be so kind as to introduce me to the caretakers of these children?”  He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, and they were off to meet Bronwyn and the other ladies, with Hilda staring up at him, dazed and speechless.

Percy jabbed Bard with his elbow, “I’ve never seen anyone get the best of my wife like that! Look at him! He’s charmin’ the britches off her, and she’s putty in his hands! Ulmo's balls, Bard; If he told her to jump off a cliff right now, she'd do it!" He howled, and Bard joined him. “I’m _never_ gonna to let her live this down!”

They watched with interest,  as Thranduil met each of the other women in charge, kissing their hand, and asking questions about their duties with the children. Bronwyn, after gathering her wits, asked the children if they would like to sing a song for the King of the Elves. They did, so they were assembled, iand sang a simple Laketown song about catching fish in the sea and seeing birds in the sky.  Bard’s children were singing along, happily.  After they finished, Thranduil nodded his head regally and thanked them, while Bard and all the others applauded.

When he and Hilda returned to Bard and Percy, Bard decided to have some more fun. He whispered something quick to Percy, then stepped forward, and said: “Children, did you know King Thranduil was the one who set all this up for you?” The children shook their heads, and said no. “Well, he was! And he wants these nice workers and his nice soldiers to do make sure you're safe, and have lots of fun! What do you think of that?” At this, the children cheered lustily and clapped. The Elvenking smiled and nodded, but gave him a slightly bemused look.

Bard wasn’t through just yet. Giving Thranduil a quick wink, he turned back to the children again and said, “Well now children, if the King of the Elves here did something SO nice for you, don’t you think you should thank him?” A chorus of Ayes. “I think so, too!” On Bard’s signal, Percy reached for Hilda and they all stepped back, leaving the Elf standing by himself, and looking a bit alarmed.

Then Bard cried, “So how about you all come here and giving him a HUG! Hurry! Come on, all of you! _Give him BIG HUGS!!”_

Instantly, a loud chorus of little voices rang out, and they rushed at the poor, unsuspecting Elf.  Within seconds, Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm, was festooned upon by a large crowd of smiling, laughing, children, all doing their best to get their little arms around him. Thranduil stood, arms up, eyes wide, and completely stunned.  He looked extremely uncomfortable, and for a moment or two, Bard regretted his joke; perhaps it was a bit too much.  Clearly the Elvenking was caught off guard, probably one of the few times in his life this had happened, he mused. Maybe this was a breach of etiquette…

But the magic and wonder of children could overcome many things.  This was proven to be so, as Bard looked on with delight. Slowly, Thranduil relaxed his stiffened posture, slowly he lowered his arms to lay hands on the children’s heads, and his expression began to change.  What was, only moments before, a mask of a smile for the little ones, became genuine, and it reached every bit of his face. Soon, he was giving the little ones what Bard had only seen once before, but hoped to see again and again and again.

Thranduil was actually laughing and smiling, showing his perfect, beautiful teeth. Bronwyn and the ladies were smiling, their hands to their cheeks, and the Elves looked happy, too.

Bard didn’t try to hide his amusement, laughing heartily. Even Percy and Hilda, no longer bewildered, were laughing.  
What had started as a small prank on his Elven friend, turned out to be genuine gift, and Bard was glad he'd done it.

The evidence was there, and Bard was deeply moved to see it.

Thranduil’s eyes didn’t look so lonely anymore.  

 

***************

 

The Elvenking thanked all the children for their enthusiastic welcome, and now they were being collected by the families, or taken to the Orphan's tent to get ready getting ready for their dinner. The adults were also leaving for the day, Bard had asked Tauriel to take Bain and Tilda to his tent and help them wash for their supper. They planned to eat with all the people in the Food Tent this evening, to finish out the day, while Thranduil had arranged to dine with his Army.

“Lord Bard, might I see you for a moment in my tent, before your dinner? A matter of some importance that has arisen. I promise to be brief; I do not wish to take you from your children.”

“Of course, Lord Thranduil.” Bard turned to his friends and asked them to pick up his children when they were done washing and meet them at the Food Tent, so, after bows and curtsies, they left.

Making their way back through the city to the Elven Camp, Thranduil couldn’t stop thinking of the phenomenon inside him. He felt better, after the sadness of the services this morning, and seeing all his injured Elves in various states of healing. It seemed fitting, after saying final farewells to his people, and so many more injured, to be reminded that life can go on.  When he looked down at all those young faces, he saw hope for the future.

It was more than that, truth be told. He was feeling like shards of protective ice were melting around his heart, and it was becoming free again. The first cracks in that thick, icy shell appeared after his encounters with his son and Mithrandir.  It began to melt with his tearful release alone on Ravenhill.  And much of it had to do with Bard, the new King of Dale. 

When he and Bard reached his tent, he said a quick word to his guard, in Sindarin, that they were not to be disturbed, and they went in, Bard following him.

“I hope you aren’t cross with me for pulling that little prank on you Thranduil,” Bard was saying behind him. “I just thought- MMMPH!”

Bard couldn't say another word, after Thranduil whipped around suddenly and kissed him fiercely, holding his face to make sure that he couldn’t get away.  After his initial surprise, he could feel Bard relax and lean into the kiss as it got more demanding, his hands were on Thranduil's waist, then around him; holding him close, then leaning into him, as they now moved down and to Thranduil's hips and pulled him closer.  They both moaned, as their kiss became predatory.  After a minute or two, Thranduil pulled back, and looked intensely into Bard’s forest-green eyes, as they both breathed heavily.

“Well, I see you liked it, after all.” Bard was smiling at him.

Thranduil’s response was to gather him in to his arms and hold him, burying his face in the space between Bard’s neck and shoulder. He breathed the man in deeply. Bard held on to him just as tightly, kissing his hair, and stroking his back.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Bard. “I cannot tell you…” He breathed, and tried again. “I have not had…” Thranduill's eyes stung and his throat sized up.  He swallowed hard, unable to speak.  How could he begin to tell Bard how much this meant to him?  

“Shh, easy now, it’s all right. Shh...” At Bard’s words, Thranduil just held him tighter, and, beyond speech, swallowed several times, eyes closed tight, his breath shaky. He felt Bard’s hands move up and down his back in soothing motions. He was lost in warmth of Bard, the feel of him, the touch of him, and he couldn't stop wanting more.  

This man seemed to be the salve to soothe the newly-exposed wounds uncovered in him. Thranduil was afraid of the idea of needing Bard for that, but right in this moment, it felt like he was the best and only way to find solace in all this raw emotion unleashed in him.  When he wasn't with him, his insides felt like a whirlpool, swirling and confusing.  But Bard had a way of calming these waters; of soothing him, without even knowing he was doing it.  

Thranduil's hand stroked Bard's head, fingering his black, thick curls, desperately wishing for the impossible...

After feeling a warm kiss to his temple, he felt Bard pull back a little, and they looked into each other's eyes.

“What prompted you to gather the children around me that way?” Thranduil asked him. He looked at the other man’s face, at the laugh lines, at how one side of his mouth lifted up in that crooked smile of his; he liked it. It made him look slightly wicked.

“I decided I like your smile.” Bard told him, “ Not those phony, diplomatic ones, but a real, honest smile, and I wanted to see another one. It was selfish, really.” Bard touched his face, his lips. “You’re so beautiful, Thranduil, and you're even more beautiful, when you have a bit of joy and laughter about you.  You're always nice to look at, and I know you know it.”  The Elf raised a brow at this, before Bard’s face turned serious.  “Thranduil, when I saw you with those children, when I saw the loneliness leave you, it took my breath away."

Another chunk of ice fell. _Oh, this Man before him; what was to be done?_ How could he stop wanting what can never be?

Bard was removing the Elvenking’s silver crown, setting it on the table. Then he was gently using his hands to brush his icy blonde hair away from his face, running it through his fingers. Thranduil was watching him, following Bard’s eyes as he took in the features of his face, as he oh, so lightly traced his finger over his cheeks, his brows, his forehead, and his lips. Then, Bard came closer, their lips almost touching, and he whispered, “Even if you weren't an Elvenking; even if you weren’t powerful, even if you weren’t helping me learn how to run my kingdom, even if you had not helped my people, you would still be the most beautiful thing I've ever known."

A slow tear made its way down Thranduil’s cheek as he fell into the deep, hazel pools of Bard’s eyes, his breath catching. His own hands moved up, resting on Bard’s wrists. So much inside of him was changing. It was astonishing, and frightening, and wonderful and joyous and terrible all at the same time.

“There's so much inside of you, so much strength, but also, kindness,” Bard whispered. “To others, you might seem cold, unfeeling and uncaring, but I don’t see it. Maybe you've been that to others. Maybe you thought that's what you needed to do, so you could be this mighty Warrior-King, but I see so much more. And that, Thranduil, is what makes you beautiful to me.”

“Bard…” he sobbed, as another tear fell.  Speech failed him entirely, after that.

Thranduil was expecting Bard to kiss him on his mouth, but instead, he gently pulled Thranduil’s face down, and placed a kiss on his forehead. Somehow, this was so much more intimate.  It helped Thranduil know the Bowman meant his words, and it pierced his heart.

And oh, did it hurt.

It hurt that he enjoyed the affection of all those children, when he could not from his own son. And now the son didn’t want to be with him anymore.

What Bard believed about him was a lie.

What would happen when Bard knew how he'd been towards Legoas? How he had left, because he despised him for not being a true father to him? How distant a cruel he'd been to Tauriel?  

Bard, no stranger to heartache and loss, was _so_ _easy_ with his children. He showered them with love and affection. He, too, had lost his wife, but didn’t let that be an excuse to turn his back on them.  It’s one thing to be distant when dealing with his people. Bard could see through that. But Bard was a family man, and he'd never respect someone who made his own children feel unloved and unwanted.

What if Bard found out, and no longer saw him the same way?

What frightened Thranduil most of all, since the slow thawing of his heart was, how much he was beginning to need Bard’s acceptance and esteem. He wasn’t sure if he could lose that, too. If Bard turned from him, he would be completely alone again. Was it worth the risk?

_O Valar…_

Bard saw his stricken face, placing hands upon his shoulders. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

Thranduil couldn’t meet his eyes, but he marshaled his resolve, squared his shoulders. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Please do not worry.” He withdrew from Bard, gently lowering their hands, giving Bard’s a squeeze.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Bard was searching his eyes, trying to find what they just lost. Thranduil could give him no answers, but he remembered what he was keeping Bard from.

“We cannot linger, Bard.  You must to be on your way to meet your people.” He did his best to give Bard a confident smile. “In fact, you are late, are you not?”

“Shit! You’re right! I’ve got to get going.”

“You had best hurry. Your people have waited long enough to have their King, do you not agree?  Mithrandir tells me he has planned some fireworks to celebrate your announcement. Your children will certainly enjoy that.”

Bard gave him a grin. “How do I look; am I dirty anywhere?  Can I borrow your washbasin to clean my face and hands at least?”

“Of course, you may. Let me get you a cloth. Your hands need washed, but otherwise, you look satisfactory. Here you are.” Thranduil handed him a small linen towel.

When Bard was finished, Thranduil inspected the King of Dale, brushing off his shoulders, and some bits of grass that was stuck to his leg.  “I think you are presentable, My King,” Thranduil told him with a nod, and, with a small shove out of the tent, he sent Bard on his way.

Thranduil stood in silence. There was a genuine void left by Bard’s presence, and it felt heavy. He sighed. He truly did not know what to do, at this point.  He was growing so attached to this King of Men.  Too attached, and that was dangerous, but he could do little about it.

 

Thranduil left a few minutes after Bard, and dined in with his Elven Army.  He was glad to spend time with Feren and the troops, and it was good for them to keep connected with their King. They were excellent, fiercely loyal individuals and performed admirably during the Battle of the Five Armies. They operated as a finely-tuned unit, to maximum effectiveness and strength.  There was no better Elven Army on Middle Earth, and he told them all so, in his speech, and acknowledged and praised his Commander Feren, and all the officers.  He spent a great deal of time, moving from table to table, speaking to the individual Elves, and personally congratulating them for a job well done.

It was late by the time he made his way back to his quarters, but he had much on his mind.  

He couldn't help but be pleased at the way his had army followed orders.  None question his retreat, neither did they hesitate to re-engage, when the order came.  Feren and his unit had protected him then; ready to defend him, when Tauriel confronted him with her bow.  When Legolas stepped forward to defy him, the soldiers were just as ready to end his son’s life, should they see a clear danger.  Their first duty was to the King, always. He expected nothing less, no matter what the circumstances.  They knew nothing of the circumstances, and naturally were confused by what had occurred.  Yet they did their duty.  Thranduil felt a surge of pride at this, along with his deep regret.

Thranduil was disappointed with himself. If he had behaved differently long before, no one would have been put in that position in the first place. How could he not think it was his fault?  Mistakes needed to be examined, things needed to be learned, so they cannot be repeated. He had always done so militarily, but he should have been doing this personally, as well.  Of course he hadn't been doing that.  How can one really look at something clearly, while running away from it?  What was he going to do about this terrible mess he made?

He knew as King, he had no choice but remove Tauriel from her position as Captain of the Guard.  Any notions of rescinding her banishment from the Woodland Realm, became impossible after she lifted her weapon to him.  He was the King; he _was_ the law, and he had to observe it.  For most of her life, Thrandiul had seen her as a soldier; his Captain of the Guard.  She had brilliantly carried out her duties for many years.  Long ago, stopped thinking of her as his ward, his son’s companion, as his foster-daughter.  Tauriel had been just as robbed as Legolas had been of the love of a father. 

When Thranduil started to sense his son’s affections for her, he was concerned, for he knew she did not return them. He saw Legolas setting himself up for heartache, and his instinct was to protect him from it, at all costs. His intention might have been admirable, but the way he carried it out was _despicable._ When he brought up the situation with Tauriel, she had the impression he would not allow it, because she wasn’t good enough for his son _,_ and he _knowingly_ allowed her to believe it.  He was cruel to her, and she didn't deserve that.  It was no wonder, when the Dwarves came, and he tried to avoid the danger, she ran off and pursued it with all the boundless, curious, energy she had always possessed.

No matter what the state of his mind, or his situation, or his heart (especially when he didn’t feel like he had one), he _never_ thought of the Silvan Elves as lowly. _Ever_. And yet, that didn’t stop him from allowing this young Elf from thinking that she was unworthy.   He lowered his head, and rubbed his eyes, as they began to sting with self-contempt.  He was chagrined at his words to Tauriel about the mortality of her Dwarf, or of any being that was doomed to die. He hadn’t always thought that way.

When Erebor and Dale were destroyed, he isolated his people. There was a Dragon sleeping in Erebor now, and he wouldn’t take risks.  Just the thought of one of those creatures caused him nights of terror-filled dreams. He withdrew his people further into themselves, and into himself even more, if it were possible. His fear made him angry. His anger spoke to his fear. It was a vicious cycle, and it had only grown worse with time.

He used to have a cordial, respectful, relationship with Mortals.  He'd forgotten what he liked and admired about the Men he knew in Dale.  Bard embodied the best in all of them, and he will be a great leader. But he was more than that.  Without effort, Bard was courageous in ways Thranduil had never been, with his heart, and his spirit. He faced things that Thranduil ran from. He didn’t turn away from what could help him, even if it meant risking vulnerability. In less than a few weeks, Thranduil saw more strength in Bard as a person than he had ever seen in himself.

With all that Bard was awakening in him, with each layer that was removed, the ache from wounds, long dormant, were being felt again. He didn't expect this would be so painful.  It was a whirlwind sometimes, overwhelming at other times.  He simply wasn't used to this.  He wasn’t used to feeling anything, and he couldn't to sort it out, except to know that, when he was with Bard, he felt better.  H didn’t know what to do, and he felt overwhelmed. 

After some contemplation, he went to his guard at the entrance of his tent, and sent for Galion.  He needed to talk to the one who had seen him through just about everything, and help him sort all this out.  Thranduil didn’t have to worry about privacy.  As was usual with the King’s quarters during wartime, his tent had been protected by a silencing spell in Quenya, to prevent outsiders from hearing intelligence or battle plans.

“You wish to see me, My Lord?”

“Yes, Galion. Please pour yourself a drink and sit down. I hope you have no pressing duties at this time.”

“I do not. What do you need, Sire?” Galion winced, remembering Thranduil’s edict. “My apologies.”

“It is quite all right. I need to speak with you, not as a King, but as a friend. There have been many things weighing on my mind of late, and it is... overwhelming."

“I see.” Galion nodded. “Can I be of help?”

“I do not know.  All I know is…I had been so…closed.  Many things have changed since we came to Dale, and I…” Thranduil hesitated, taking a huge breath. “I do not know what to do…” He blew the air out of his mouth, slowly, and looked down.

Galion gave him a penetrating look. “Can you tell me what is bringing all of this about?”

“I am not sure. It may not be simply one reason. Or maybe it is. I feel…confused. It is a jumble in me, and it…” _Oh_ , _this_ _was_ _hard_... “It is frightening.”

“Does this have to do with King Bard?”

At this, Thranduil’s eyes shot up defensively.  He tended to forget just how aware Galion was of the details of his life, and he felt vulnerable. What he found in Galion's face was calmness and concern.  Thranduil relaxed, and tried to come up with an answer for him.

“It might, but I do not know if Bard is the cause.  It could be many things, in truth.  Many events have made me see things in a different light…”

“Can you tell me about them?”

“I do not know where to start.  I was hoping you might help me make sense of all it.  It is difficult to see clearly, and…” He fell silent for a moment.  "You have known me all my life, Galion, and I do not know where else to turn.  All these thoughts and feelings..."

“I understand your dilemma, Thranduil, and I will do what I can.  Let us do this: rather than consider everything at once, can we speak of one problem at a time?" 

"We could do that."

"Can you tell me about the day of the Battle?  Some things occurred that might have a great deal to do with why you are feeling this way, do you not think?"

"But, you know what happened, that day."

“I do,” Galion insisted, asking, “However, it might be helpful if you speak of it from your own point of view. I know it will be difficult, but it could start to unravel this for you.” Galion poured another glass of wine for him, and sat back, expectantly.

And so, Thranduil began to tell him the same things he had told Bard: his visions of the prior War, seeing his father's face among the bodies, the terrible things he said to Tauriel, of Legolas’s contempt, of Mithrandir’s words about his wife.   He told him about Ravenhill, when Legolas left, and what he observed with Tauriel, before the Dwarf Prince had been taken away. He even told him about how he wept bitterly, sitting against the rocks for such a long time.

Galion listened carefully throughout, asking him what was running through his mind, and how it felt.  It took enormous effort for him to talk about his thoughts and feelings, but when he did, it began to untangle the terrible knot inside. After what seemed like hours, Thranduil was exhausted and limp. He sat back in his chair, with his eyes closed, out of energy.

“Thranduil, you have had a difficult time, and you need to sleep now.  You might not understand it, but you have done well, and I am proud of you."

“Do you have any answers or gems of wisdom as to what I should do?” Thranduil asked his friend, wryly.

“I am sorry, My Lord, I do not.  You, yourself hold the answers you seek, but I promise I will help you find them.  I would ask that we talk again, if you would. If you truly want to be free of the chains that bind you, I think we must, for as long as it takes. But I leave that for you to decide. I cannot force you, and even if I could, _I will not_.  Yes, there are things that have beleaguered you, but unless you are willing to seek those things out and face them for yourself, and _for yourself alone_ , I fear no one can help you."

Thranduil contemplated his words, then whispered.  "I have to, Galion.  I cannot be this way anymore.  I was this cold, unfeeling monster, and I can't -"

Galion put his hand on the Elvenking's shoulder.  " _Mellon nîn,_ you were never a monster.  I have known you since the day you were born, and have loved you like a son.  I always will, Thranduil.”

A tear moved down Thranduil's cheek, and dripped off his chin.  "I'm frightened of what I might see if I look too closely,” he whispered.

"I understand, but you are not alone, Thranduil.  I will not desert you in this, no matter what happens.  I hope that helps you."

It did.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has the honor of attending the funeral for the late King Under the Mountain and his nephews. 
> 
> After putting it off as long as he could, Thranduil and Tauriel finally meet in his tent to discuss her actions during the Battle and learn her fate. Thranduil and Bard begin to reflect upon the Elf's family, and what could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy Chapter Ten. I was watching the Appendices of BOTFA, and was fascinated at the how they arrived at the set design for the Funeral Chamber of Erebor, deep in the heart of the mountain. I will never be able to do that justice, but I like the idea of Dwarves returning to the stone from which they were shaped.
> 
> There are two wonderful, tales written by [Shampain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain) called [Modern Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4294644) and [Hellidays](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5513165), a fun, snarky romp through the Barduil world - check it out! 
> 
> A sweet story I think you will also enjoy is from [olIverdalstonbrowning](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning), and it's called [Phosphenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3218459), in which Bard is a teacher. 
> 
> I hope you are enjoying the lovely June sunshine, wherever you are, I know I am!

 

Erebor, even in its current state, with Smaug's claw marks and so many broken walls and pillars, was astounding. Bard could see much had been done to clear debris  and bring as much order as possible here.  He beheld the green marble walls, the high carved ceilings, the grand pillars, the bridges,  the majestic statues, the tapestries, and best of all, the golden floor of the Hall of Kings.

Before this, Bard had never been anywhere but Laketown and the river in  Mirkwood. He'd seen this mountain in the distance his entire life, but never imagined it had held such wonder.  His first glimpse of the carvings of the entrance to Erebor, were only peripheral; he was too preoccupied trying to keep his people alive.  When he rode up to the Grand Entrance to confront Thorin, it was only hastily-placed ramparts he saw. But now that was over, and he could truly marvel at the craftsmanship of the Dwarven race, it took his breath away.

“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” A voice to his left, said.

Bard looked down at Bilbo and smiled. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I feel like I’ve left Arda and am walking in another world.”

“That’s how I felt, when I left the Shire. It’s one thing to contemplate this wide world from my armchair and a map, but it's another thing it see it, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, Master Baggins.”

“Please, call me Bilbo.”

“Of course, Bilbo. And I insist you call me Bard. No formal titles between us, yeah? Not for someone who tried so hard to prevent war.”

“I thank you. And this is…?”

“Oh, please excuse my manners. This is Lord Percy, my Chief Aide and Steward, and his wife Lady Hilda, my Seneschal.  Percy, Hilda, may I present Master Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

Bilbo exchanged friendly greetings with the older couple, who also requested informality.

There were all seated at the head table at the feast given after the funeral for King Thorin, Prince Fili, and Prince Kili.  

~o0o~ 

It had been an extraordinary service,  in the tombs of the Lonely Mountain.  Bard stood with the other guests by the stone platform, cradled between the arms of two enormous statues, with three plinths supporting the bodies of the fallen above a huge, echoing bottomless pit.  The hymn was sung by the Dwarves vibrated throughout the enormous tomb, and down into the unknown, reverberating to form a distinct, unforgettable sound. There were Dwarves on the staircases, and each level of the cavern, holding lamps and candles. The platform, was surrounded by candlelight, as was each of the bodies.

Bilbo and the rest of the company were making their way slowly around and in between the plinths, weeping openly over their fallen comrades; even Dwalin  was heartbroken. Balin told him how his younger brother sliced down Orc after Orc like blades of grass, desperate to save Thorin, but he simply couldn’t reach him in time, was forced to watch as Thorin, with no other choice but to sacrifice himself, moved Orcrist the Goblin Cleaver out of the way, allowing the Azog’s blade to pierce his body, so he could thrust his own into White Orc’s heart. Dwalin felt responsible for Thorin’s death and Bard had compassion for him.  The Dwarf could be aggressive and frightening, but his actions showed a devoted, loyal and commendable heart.

Bilbo lingered at Thorin’s side, sobbing until Ori and Dori gently led him away.  He had loved the King, so Bard was told, and, despite the Gold Sickness, Thorin cared for him, as well.  If things had been different, Bilbo might have been a neighbor of sorts, as the King Under the Mountain’s consort.  Like Tauriel and her lost Dwarven Prince, there'd be no chance to see where love could take them. An untimely death doesn’t just rob one life, it's the death of a future involving many, and all the joys, trials and triumphs that would never come to pass. It was a death of possibilities.

When the hymns were finished, the Dwarves began a deep, reverent humming, while the original members of the Company gathered on either side of the marbled plinths. Bofur and Nori went to Prince Kili, taking the cloth he was laying on, and lovingly wrapped him in it.  They lifted him and took him to the edge of the platform.  All present bowed low with respect, and Bofur and Nori gave the Kili to the Lonely Mountain.

Bard heard a sob to his left, and glanced over to see Tauriel.  Her face was full of anguish, and tears ran down her face and off her chin, unchecked. She had also been invited as an honored guest, and for her valiant efforts to save Kili's life, was named a friend to the Dwarves. Once Kili was given into the mountain’s care, Tauriel slowly stepped forward, bowed and gave an Elven salute to him, and dropped a small, smooth stone down into the depths. Then she turned paced back to take her place beside Thranduil, looking stricken and pale.  Thranduil looked down at her, concerned, placed his hand on her shoulder, helping to steady her.

Ori told Bard what happened to them on Ravenhill; how she had gone up to where he and Bolg had been fighting. She and Kili did their best, working together to kill him, to no avail.  Kili had been stabbed through the heart, right in front of her. In the end, Legolas killed that evil creature, plunging a knife right into his brain, twisting it, with satisfaction that this monster was dead.  After such an ordeal, Bard could understand why Thranduil wanted her to oversee his children, a cheerful occupation to soothe her broken heart.

Oin and Gloin now went to Prince Fili, Heir of Thorin. They, too, took their Prince’s body carefully and entrusted it to the mountain in the respectful way, while the Dwarves hummed their lamentations.

It was the time for Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain’s interment. Gandalf stepped onto the center of the platform, facing the Free Peoples there, and gave his eulogy, his voice rumbling and echoing in the cavern:  

_The King has come unto his own_  
_Under mountain, under stone_  
_Send him now unto the deep_  
_Unto earth, eternal sleep_  
_Under mountain, under stone_  
_Through all the lands, let it be known_  
_The King is dead!_  
_Long Live the King!_

 

From somewhere, deep horns blew, and the Dwarves’ tune slowed in reverence, for their dead liege-lord.  Thranduil gave Tauriel's shoulder another squeeze, and walked to the platform, placed the ancient Elven blade, Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver, under Thorin's hands.  He saluted Thorin, and bowed low offering a brief blessing in Sindarin, before pacing back to his place.  It was now Bard's turn to walk to the platform and, and bowing before Bilbo, who placed the Heart of the Mountain in his hands, wrapped in cloth.  Bard went to Thorin, unwrapped the King's Jewel, and placed in Thorin's hands.  He stepped back, bowed low, and said, "May your journey the Halls of your Father's be swift and joyous, My King," and returned to his place beside Percy and Hilda.

Then Balin and Dwalin, with many tears served their King for the final time.  They neatly wrapped Thorin in his gold and purple cloth, and lifted him. Slowly, they brought him to the edge, then the Lonely Mountain embraced the him in the bottomless depths.  The King of the Mountain was returned to it and to the stone from which his people were made.  Bilbo was completely overcome, leaned into Gandalf and sobbed bitterly, and as Thorin fell, while the Wizard did his best to comfort him.

The horns and the humming stopped, and cavern was complete silence and stillness for long moments. Then Dain, went over to the walkway, on to the platform, and stood regally between Balin and Dwalin at the center, wearing the crown of Durin.  Balin raised his sword and cried in a strong voice:    

_Long Live the King!_

 

Dain, the King under the Mountain, bowed low to his new subjects, as the cries of, “Long Live the King!” were repeated three times, its echo bouncing off of the walls, and echoing down into the pit, over and over and over. Dain straightened and faced his people, as their new ruler. Another Dwarven hymn was sung, as the King made his way to the steps of the cavern and up the stairs, followed by the Royal Guests, and the rest of the Dwarven people.

Bard, Fisherman, Bargeman, now Dragonslayer and King of Dale, was moved to tears at all he had witnessed.  Never again, during his life on Arda, nor even beyond that, would he see or hear anything like it.   

~o0o~ 

As Bilbo and Hilda chatted during the feast, Bard turned, looking for Thranduil. He was sitting next to Gandalf, with Tauriel, Galion and Feren. Tauriel seemed a little recovered after the ceremony, but she was still pale.  Gandalf was speaking with her, and from what he could see, he was trying to offer her words of comfort. Thranduil turned his head a little, and met Bard’s eyes, giving him a smile and an encouraging nod.   The Elvenking met with Bard, Hilda, and Percy before the trip to the Lonely Mountain today, telling them all he learned about the proceedings, and what would be expected.  This was a huge help, as they no experience in such matters, yet wanted to represent their new country well.  At first, they felt embarrassed at their ignorance, but Thranduil assured them that they need not be. Dwarven funerals, especially a Royal one, are hardly ever witnessed by outsiders.  The Elvenking only knew what to expect because he sought the Wizard out and asked him, and offered to give Thorin the Elven sword Orcrist, as a gesture of goodwill.  Balin took Bard aside as soon as he arrived, and asking the King of Dale to place the Heart of the Mountain in Thorin's hand before he was buried. 

Bard refused to show up refugee rags for this, so Thranduil arranged for formal clothing to be made for them.  It was one thing at the service for his people, where dressing as one of them served as a sign of unity.  Bard was dressed in black soft leather leggings, a cream-colored tunic with gold embroidery at the collar and around the lacings, topped by a dark blue cloak, lined with crimson, also trimmed in gold, as befitting his station.

He didn’t have a formal crown. There was none to be found in the city, so it was assumed the crown jewels had either been stolen by the Dragon, or looted by bandits. Thranduil had offered to loan him one, but Bard refused. Thranduil’s crowns were beautiful, but they reflected his Elven culture, with their meandering vines and leafy shapes. Bard would only wear a crown that depicted his own kingship and his own new city.  It would not be a great start to the negotiations and the entire idea of the Three Northern Kingdoms, if there were such an overt sign of the friendship between the two of them.  When he pointed this out to the Elvenking, Thranduil gave Bard an approving smile, and kissed him, for his brilliance. It would be better to go without. The Dwarves would likely accept this absence of deference due to circumstances beyond Bard’s control, over any evidence of favoritism.

Percy and Hilda looked different than Bard had ever seen them.  They looked almost like strangers, and they hardly recognized themselves. Hilda loved it. She was given a dress in green, a dark shade, to reflect the solemnity of the occasion, but elegant, and after the fashion of the People of the Lake, which she appreciated. She, too, wanted to represent the best of her folk, not look like she was “dressed in Elven hand-me-downs,” as she put it. Percy was dressed in a tunic of dark blue, and, like Bard, wore black leggings. He looked uncomfortable out of his usual loose-fitting fishing garb. It took both Bard and Hilda a bit of coaxing to convince him that he looked fine, and he’d better get used to it in his new position!

The open hatred between King Dáin and Thranduil seemed to have tamed, somewhat. In order to encourage relations between the Elves and the Dwarves, Gandalf had served as liaison – more like a go-between, really – and made each side understand what actually brought them to the valley of Dale with such hostility. Thranduil was made to understand that Thorin’s message for aide was influenced by the Dragon Sickness. The Lord of the Iron Hills was told that the Woodland Realm and Dale had wanted to steal their _entire treasure_.  He hadn't even told the others he had sent the Raven to Dáin, such was his paranoia.

For Dáin’s part, he learned that Thranduil only wanted the necklace, and was told how Thorin promised a share of the gold to the Laketown people and then refused to give it.  The rest of the original Company confirmed this.  He was told of Thranduil’s concern about Thrór having the Sickness, before the Dragon came, and his attempts to help the Dwarves immediately after, despite Thorin's unreasonable pride.  King Dáin, at the idea of an Elf going behind Thorin’s back for any reason, made him explode in temper.  Gandalf, with great effort, helped him understand Thranduil only did so because there were the early signs of illness, and Thorin’s people would have starved and frozen to death if Thranduil had not done it.   As far as Thorin's insistence that they attack Smaug, Dáin needed no assistance from Gandalf to know that the idea was foolish and suicidal.  As much as it goaded him – and it goaded him _a lot_ – he admitted that Thranduil had done exactly the right thing.

The Elf and the Dwarf would never be close friends. But this information went a long way to ease their mutual hate. In an unexpected way, Tauriel, seemed to serve as a conduit between the nations. The original Company liked her, and respected her.  Dáin, who was always fond of the Princes, was cordial and as kindly as someone like him could be. Bard suspected he especially liked her because she defied her King.

Bard looked over at the New King Under the Mountain. He was terrifying when he first saw him, in his full armor and ready to deal out as much death as he deemed necessary.  He was still a formidable figure to behold.  It fascinated him that he and Thranduil could be such complete opposites in looks and bearing, yet still strike such fear in the face of an enemy.  He had seen the both of them at this, during the Battle.  Their fighting styles were different, each using their natural strengths to benefit. Perhaps Dale's army would benefit with some training by the Dwarves as well as the Elves, to glean what skills they could.

  
Thoughts like that could wait, as the speeches were about to begin. Gandalf got up, raising his glass, and saluted all the Three Northern Kingdoms represented here. He talked of how the Valar had been looking out for all of them; had they not all been assembled before the gates of Erebor at that precise time, no one would have survived.  While they all grieved at the loss of King Thorin and his Princes, the Valar had brought about the means to reunite the Kingdoms of the North and thus strengthen the area, which could only benefit their people.  Gandalf paid homage to all the Valar, and Eru himself, while all members of the feast stood, and joined him.

Then Thranduil rose and gave a short speech thanking their hosts for the honor of witnessing such a heartfelt farewell to their comrades, and extended his best wishes to King Dáin, and his hope of renewed relations between their nations. This was met with polite applause, which was more than Thranduil had been expecting, as he told Bard afterward. So, this was an encouraging sign. Any huge change, such as this, could never be wrought overnight.

Next, Bard stood up, and raised his glass to the Dwarves. Out of nervousness, he had practiced his short speech endlessly.  He was told that Dwarves hated flowery talk, which was a good thing, because so did Bard.  He simply extended his sympathies to his Dwarf neighbors for their loss, and that he hoped that, as Dale was the center of the North, they would see his Kingdom as a friend, both in good times and bad.  After paying homage to the new King, he spontaneously added his honest amazement at the beauty and craftsmanship that he could see in this mountain, and he looked forward to seeing Erebor, once its beauty and glory have been fully restored. This apparently was the exact right thing to say, as the Dwarves burst into applause and cheers.

Then, Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills, King Under the Mountain, stood up and officially began his reign. Although sarcastic and irreverent when they met in battle, Dáin could be eloquent. After a brief greeting, he ordered all the Dwarves to stand, then they sang the Song of the Lonely Mountain: 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away ere break of day_  
_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_  
_While hammers fell like ringing bells_  
_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_  
_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

_For ancient king and elvish lord_  
_There many a gleaming golden hoard_  
_They shaped and wrought, and light they caught_  
_To hide in gems on hilt of sword._

_On silver necklaces they strung_  
_The flowering stars, on crowns they hung_  
_The dragon-fire, in twisted wire_  
_They meshed the light of moon and sun._

_Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away, ere break of day,_  
_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_  
_And harps of gold; where no man delves_  
_There lay they long, and many a song_  
_Was sung unheard by men or elves._

_The pines were roaring on the height,_  
_The winds were moaning in the night._  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_  
_The trees like torches blazed with light._

_The bells were ringing in the dale_  
_And men they looked up with faces pale;_  
_The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire_  
_Laid low their towers and houses frail._

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_  
_The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom._  
_They fled their hall to dying fall_  
_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon._

_Far over the misty mountains grim_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_  
_We must away, ere break of day,_  
_To win our harps and gold from him!_

 

Upon hearing these words sung so beautifully, Bard had a vision: His own city in all its former glory, the sun shining, children playing; Elves wandering the street talking and laughing with his people. There were also Dwarves busy at their work, creating the things that only they had the skill for. He could see the Dwarven men, women and children happily wandering through the vast halls of Erebor. He saw the flames and the terror the Dragon wrought, and there was Girion, trying desperately to save his city, using all but one of the Black Arrows.

Listening to words of the song, he could also see the Dwarves’ hope and determination that they would one day return to their home. With this, Bard was moved to tears, as the fullness of what was finally restored to them, the fullness of what was given back to Bard’s family, of the hope that was in the hearts of his people. When he shot the arrow into the Dragon Smaug's heart, he did it for his children and the safety of Laketown, nothing more. Now, the enormity of this deed was felt, and he was overcome.

When his eyes cleared some, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Bilbo was openly weeping, as were many of the Dwarves, and Hilda and Percy were dabbing at their eyes. Thranduil looked pensive and sad.  

After the song, Dáin raised his own glass, and gave his first decree as King: The Song of the Lonely Mountain was never again to be sung by any Dwarf, as, thanks to Bard, King of Dale, the hopes of the Dwarven people for their Kingdom had been restored to them. He decreed that new songs were to be written, to honor Bard's brave deed, and to reflect the joy of his people in their new life here. He also said that, hereafter, the King of Dale, and his entire family, throughout all their generations to come, will forever be known as a friend to the Dwarves.

Bard was _stunned_. And so was everyone else, that wasn’t a Dwarf. The applause was thunderous.  Hilda hugged him, and urged him to stand up, and so did Gandalf. Thranduil looked up at him, applauding, and gave him another magical smile.

Bard was thankful that no one asked him to speak, because he wouldn’t have been able to utter a word.

 

***************

 

It was the day after the funeral at Erebor, and Thranduil could delay this no further.

He had spent the entire day catching up on paperwork sent from his Realm, replying to messages and looking at reports. It was a busy, if uneventful day, and he was relieved to put a dent in the pile, before it got too out of hand. He wrote a small list of things to be brought from the palace, which would arrive with the next shipment of supplies in two days. Feren had taken most of the Elven Army home this morning to return to their duties there; he could not afford to leave his Realm with less than optimal protection for too long. Since Dol Guldur had been routed, this was a good time to take advantage, and clear much of his land of the spiders. And he followed Tauriel's earlier suggestion order them killed at their source. Feren will be returning to Dale to take command in Thranduil's place, while he is at Erebor.

Bard, in the meantime, was helping his own men with some physical labor something or other. He insisted, saying all this sitting around and eating was making him feel soft. “I’m not going to be one of those fat, lazy oafs like the Master was. My people need to proof that I'm willing to put my shoulder in with everybody else.” Thranduil rolled his eyes, but really, Bard was right.

“You wished to see me, My Lord?” 

“Yes, Tauriel, please come and sit down.”

She knew what this meeting was about, and she looked terrified.

~o0o~ 

Thranduil had spent the last two nights reflecting on his long talk with Galion. To say it was a weighty conversation couldn't begin to describe it.  Thranduil had been drained - an accurate observation, when one considers drawing an infection out of a wound.  As hard as was, it to share his thoughts and feelings out loud it with Galion, it some brought clarity and relief.  When Thranduil got into bed that night, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.

After returning from the Lonely Mountain yesterday, he decided it was time to speak to Tauriel about what occurred between them.  He met with Galion and Feren, and told them of the context of her behavior. Feren was sympathetic, but not impressed enough to think laws should be broken.  As her superior officer, he had the right to express his opinion and help decide her fate.  He would _never_ believe there was an adequate excuse for raising her weapon to her King.  Thranduil, sadly,  agreed.  An explanation was never an excuse, and there must be consequences for one’s actions; especially this. It was the consequences that were considered, in light of this context. He told his Aide and his Commander he had decided, and after some deliberation, Galion, and even Feren was satisfied with his course.   

~o0o~ 

“We have many things to discuss, Tauriel, and I think it best to start with several apologies.”

“Of course, My Lord, and I truly wish to. I beg your forgiveness for -“

Thranduil raised his hand to stop her. “You misunderstand me, Tauriel.  It is I who need to express regret to you.”

 _If she had been drinking when he said this, she would have choked on it_ , he thought to himself. If this wasn’t so serious, it might be comical. But it was serious, and it was absolutely not funny.

“The first thing we need to speak of, Tauriel, is the situation between you and Legolas.”

  
At this, her face fell, ashamed.

Thranduil took a deep breath, and said, “I want you to understand that I do not hold you responsible for whatever feelings he has for you.  I have never seen, nor heard any evidence that you encouraged him, or gave him reason to hope.  This was not your fault.  I allowed you to think that I discouraged you because of your heritage.  It was inexcusable to let any subject of my kingdom think themselves inferior because of their birth.  It is not true, and I apologize."

“But…Legolas has left because of me!” Tauriel was near tears.

“I do not believe my son decided to leave just because of his feelings for you.  The other reasons, and I must deal with when I am able.  But, Tauriel, even if you _were_ the sole cause of his departure, you still would not be to blame.  Frankly, neither is he.”  He looked at her with sympathy.  “You have discovered recently, to your great sorrow, one’s heart cannot be ruled. This was not your fault.

"It was good you came to Erebor yesterday, and I am truly sorry for your loss. I apologize for dismissing what you felt for him.” He looked into her lovely, sad green eyes. “I have treated you badly Tauriel. I wish I could change it, but I cannot.” He thought of her crying over Kili at Ravenhill, and how she cried yesterday, as she watched him be put to rest.  She looked so lost, and his heart went out to her.

They paused for a few minutes, while she composed herself. Then he said, “As you well know, this is not the only thing we need to discuss.  Tauriel, the time has come to discuss what your punishment will be for your desertion of my kingdom, and for your actions against my person during the Battle of the Five Armies.” Tauriel turned white as snow, and another tear escaped one of her eyes, as she closed them. She became still, unable to breathe. Thranduil felt compassion for her, but he needed to make his edict to her as her King.

“Tauriel, I hereby declare your banishment as a subject of the Woodland Realm to be permanent, and your temporary assignment as Chief Guard to the Children of Dale to be permanent as well. From this day forward, you are no longer permitted to enter my Kingdom, unless it as an escort to the Children of Dale and only under extreme emergency. At that, you may only take them to the Palace Gate; you may never enter the Halls of the Woodland Realm again, for any reason.  From this day forward, you are a subject to Bard, King of Dale, as well as his successors, with myself as secondary, and only then, if they are not available to command you.”

The young Elf looked at him, and blinked at him, several times. “I do not understand, My Lord. I deserve death for what I have done.” 

“I do not hold with Kinslaying, Tauriel. There are other kingdoms where this is practiced, but not mine, nor my father’s.”

“But surely there must be more to this, My King. I have committed an unthinkable crime, and I have no-“

“Yes, Tauriel, you do have an excuse.  And we will discuss this.  But first, you must have something to drink.  I fear you may faint, you are so pale.”  He handed her a cup of water, and she hesitated to take it, astonished that her king was serving her.  He set it down in front of her, and ordered her to drink it. He waited until she finished it all, and then he continued.

“In the midst of the Battle, I made the wrong decision.  I gave the order to withdraw, and it was done for the wrong reasons.  If we had left, the Battle would have been lost, and the Northern Kingdoms would fall, including the Woodland Realm.  Your defiance was what saved us all.  As much sorrow as I feel over the lives lost, we were meant to stay.  I see the Valar’s hand in this now, although no one could have known this at the time."

“My Lord, I cannot say yet how to respond to this.  I raised my bow to you, and that was treason!  You must not set that aside. I am more sorry for that than you can know, but I deserve to be punished. I _must_ be.”

The Elvenking was intrigued. “What are your reasons for insisting on your beheading, Tauriel?”

“My Lord, what I have done was unspeakable! I am ashamed to even think of it now. You took me into your halls, into your own home, when I was a child, alone and helpless and I repaid you with a threat against your life? I cannot understand why you do not hate me!” Her voice trembled, and she was still pale, such was her regret.

Thranduil regarded her stricken face with sympathy.  “I could never hate you, Tauriel.” He said, gently. “I understand that you are young, and what you did was an impulsive act, borne of desperation.  I regret my reaction as well.  Please understand, this is not something I wish to do, but I must follow the laws of my Kingdom. I cannot allow myself to make exceptions, as much as I would like to. Do you understand?”

She then showed her quality by straightening her posture, saying, “If there are those who think raising a weapon to you would not be severely punished, it could be seen as an invitation to attack you!  It could cause you to be in danger, My Lord, and I cannot live with this!" She held his look and as upset as she was, she did not back down.

“Peace, Tauriel. What you have said does you much credit. It proves my confidence in you to guard the King of Dale’s children was not misplaced. Twice, you have saved them, have you not?  I also want you know, I have shared my judgement with King Bard, Lord Galion, and Commander Feren, and they are in agreement with my decision.  King Bard is delighted, and so, I imagine are his children."

His voice was quiet when he spoke to her with compassion. “I believe you will be happy with Bard's family, but make no mistake, this punishment is severe.  I want you to contemplate the idea of never coming back to your home. It may not seem difficult now, Tauriel.  So many things are happening, in quick succession. What about after some time has passed, when there is peace?  What about walking through my forest, hearing the trees of the Woodland Realm speak to you? Hearing them sing to you, friends you have had all of your life?”  He got up, walked to her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at her sadly.

 “I do not think you understand, Tauriel. By banishing you, you will now, and forevermore, be deaf to their voice.  I am so sorry.”

As Thranduil watched Tauriel comprehend his words, it was heart wrenching.  As he patiently stood beside her as she started to cry, his arm around her shoulders comforting her, his throat hurting and his eyes stinging.

 

After his dinner, Thranduil was sitting on the cushioned throne, legs crossed, chin in his fingers, deep in thought.  He had no choice in his sentence for Tauriel, and, she knew this.  It still didn’t make it easy, and he knew he would truly miss her in his home, her laugh, her smile and energy. She worked hard and was diligent, but she had a joy about her, and a lust for life. For centuries, she lived in his part of the Palace, in the apartment next to Legolas.  When he returned home, the quiet and stillness would break his heart all over again at her loss.   

~o0o~ 

> She had been brought to the Palace, as a toddler, when an outlying village had been attacked by Orcs. He remembered the village, before the attack, it was small, but well-protected. An attack like that was rare, as he was fastidious about seeing to their safety. But sometimes, it couldn’t be prevented. After inspecting the site with his troops, he was told that every Orc responsible had been found and killed. He was satisfied, but he was still furious at the loss of the villagers and several of those guarding it. These were good, peaceful people, part of his guild of weavers. His wife had loved the fabric they bought from it.  After her death, he still made a point to keep his purchases the same, to help with their economy, and anonymously sent it to a human settlement to the West of them, to be used for their poor and orphans.
> 
> Their leader, Tasar, was hardworking and honest. He had no problems among them.  There had been no disputes for Thranduil to settle, as Tasar was adept and solving problems within the village itself.  His death, and that of those villagers was yet another example of the senseless death and tragedy this evil in his forest had wrought. 
> 
> The soldiers told him there was a child, the little daughter of a couple was found, hidden in a compartment under the floorboards.  Earlier, a lieutenant had heard crying in the house, moved the rug away, lifted the door and saw her, there in the dark.  A small sleeping bundle with red curly hair was placed in Thranduil's arms.  Her face was streaked with soot and tears, and she was clutching the corner of a sooty blanket.  Then Tauriel woke up, making no sound, and looked at him with solemn, trusting green eyes.  She blinked up at him, then reached up and touched his cheek.  
> 
> Thranduil remembered well the day her parents came to the Palace to present her for naming.  "Daughter of the forest" seemed perfect for her, then.  Even then, as an infant, she had gazed up at him with those trusting, beautiful green eyes, and the Elvenking couldn't look away.
> 
> Thranduil couldn't say why this little one moved him so, and said nothing, but got on his Elk and carried her to the Palace himself, wrapping his cloak around her to keep her warm, as they rode through the forest.  
> 
> What was to be done with her? Galion suggested she be placed in the Royal Apartments, as a companion for the Prince, and Thranduil agreed. Legolas had long reached his majority, and spent a great deal of time out on patrol, but he was still young, and might benefit from the company.  Perhaps he could make it up to his son, if there was someone to feel close with, besides Galion. To an extent, it did. He remembered seeing them run through the halls, Tauriel toddling ahead, squealing with delight, while Legolas pretending to chase her. For several decades, the Royal Wing was livelier, noisier, happier.
> 
> That wasn’t to say that he ignored her. Not at all. She would come and see him in his study, with her caregiver, or even on Legolas’ hip, asking to see him. She was an engaging and adorable child, but the problem was, Thranduil just couldn’t engage. He would hold cursory, short conversations with her, pat her on the head, then send her on her way, saying he was busy King, and must get back to work.  He didn’t stop Tauriel from asking to see him, but didn’t encourage it, either. So, between her caregivers, Galion, and Legolas, she was raised. 
> 
> But if she cried out in the night, as children often do, Thranduil was the first to reach her bedside.  He would sit by her bed and hold her hand, until she fell back to sleep, and he'd watch over her to make her feel safe.  When Thranduil suffered a nightmare, he'd tiptoe into her room and hold her in his arms, while she slept.  That innocent, sleeping face and those red curls, help chase away the images and dreams that haunted the Elvenking.  
> 
> The first time he had done this, he looked up to see Galion in the doorway, watching them and it was then that he realized why Galion wanted her with them, and it wasn't for Legolas.  The Elvenking needed her as much as she needed him.   
> 
> Perhaps Galion had also hoped Tauriel might bring father and son closer, but on the occasions that Legolas saw his father sit by his foster-sister's bedside, Thranduil saw hurt in his eyes.  
> 
> Thranduil did reach a point, thanks to the little red haired Elfling, where he _did_ want to bridge the chasm and reconnect with his son, though.  Galion had noticed this, and discreetly made excuses for  them to dine privately, rather than in the Dining Hall.  There was conversation, but it often was uncomfortable and forced. Thranduil would make an effort, but Legolas was so used to being pushed away, that now he pulled away. Tauriel, following every move her foster-brother made, took her cues from him. It all felt too late.  Despite Galion's encouragement, Thranduil stopped trying, because he didn’t know what to do, and it felt like a muddled mess.

~o0o~  

And now, even Tauriel was gone. Her things were being cleaned out of her rooms in the Royal Wing, and to brought to her. His halls would never hear her voice or her laughter again. He was all alone again, it was his own fault, and his heart hurt.

 

He was so lost in his musings, that he didn’t even notice the King of Dale's entrance.

“You look depressed, Thranduil.”

He didn’t move, didn’t look at him.  “I am," he said, and heaved a great sigh.

A goblet was pressed into his hand. “Here, my friend.”

“I thank you.” It stayed in his hand.

“May I ask what’s wrong?”

He still didn’t look up, just found interest in the dark red of his cup’s contents. He finally looked at the Bowman, whose eyes were searching his own.

“I just had to pronounce Tauriel's sentence.”

“What happened?”

Thranduil had been grateful to Bard for agreeing to her permanent assignment, but the Bowman assured him the blessing would be theirs.  Her skill and agility in hand-to-hand combat was rivaled by few, and he was grateful for such excellent protection for his children.

Bard sat on the chair to the left of the throne, and listened to him recount the talk with Tauriel. Then he said, “I didn't know her relationship to your forest would be severed. I’m afraid I don’t understand these things. She must be heartbroken.”

“She is." Thranduil said, in a small, sad voice.  He felt pain in his chest, knowing he had hurt her so deeply. "She has grown up with those trees and the animals. They have been her friends. Many of them had become sick, when the evil in Dol Guldur grew. But, to even travel on the path between our two nations to take your children to my Halls, she will not be able to hear them. It was a just punishment, even though I hated to carry it out. Knowing I had no choice, does not make it easier.” Thranduil was still looking off to the side.

“This has been one of my worst moments as a King, Bard.”

“I imagine I’ll learn things like that for myself, soon enough.”

“Yes, you will.” Another sigh.

They sat in silence for a while.

“She expected to be killed, you know.”

“Really? And is that something that Elves do?”

“There are other Elven Kingdoms that practice this sort of punishment against Elves. King Thingol of Doriath did.  I do not know if Elrond of Rivendell, or Celeborn of Lothlórien carry out those sorts of sentences. I have no judgment against them if they do.  But I do not, and neither did my father.  That is not to say I am against it altogether.  If there are outsiders who invade my kingdom, and threaten my people in any way, I have no qualms carrying out a swift and final sentence.  In your own Kingdom, how you decide to handle such matters is your own affair; I will not judge you, either.”

“Will Tauriel be able to find other trees?” Bard asked.

“Yes. I can only control the trees in my own forest. I hope they will forgive me.”

“How old is she?”

“She is 617 years old.”

Bard deadpanned, “Really? Just a baby, then.”

Thranduil smiled. “It is true, she is young. I wonder if banishing her might not benefit her in the long run. Tauriel has always wondered about the bigger world. Prior to these events, she had never been outside of my Realm. She has a curious nature that might never be satisfied, had she stayed forever in my Kingdom. With you, she might see more of Middle Earth. She will protect your children as they they travel throughout Middle Earth on your behalf."

"You might be right.  She's been hurt by Kili's death, something new and different could help."

I agree.  I think that she will find the loss of my forest can be replaced by other things, which might bring her some happiness.  It may bring her peace to be closer to Erebor.”

“Thranduil, forgive me, but from everything you just told me, it sounds like you’ve not really meted out much of a punishment.”

“Perhaps I have not.  Or perhaps I am telling myself these things for my own comfort."

“So why do you look like you _have_ had her decapitated?”

Thranduil sighed again, and said quietly. “Because I will miss her in my Halls. I am grieving for myself more than her.”

“Why is that?”

A long silence. “Because she is my adopted daughter.”

Bard looked at Thranduil in surprise. “I had no idea.”

"We've had her with us, since she was a baby, when her parents were killed."

Thranduil told his friend the story of how she came to live at the Palace, and some memories of her, growing up there.

He told Bard how, once, when she was small, she went missing, and everyone was frantic, searching for hours.  She was finally found in a large cupboard in the kitchens, fast asleep, curled around one of the Palace cats, with a plate of half-eaten tarts in front of her.  He talked of the little pranks she played, like sneaking up behind Galion, to pull his hair, and run away, giggling. She was the darling of all who worked in the Royal wing. She was ever-curious, and got into _everything._   Bard was amused when Thranduil told him no one could stay angry because although she was full of mischief, she was never hateful. The Palace enjoyed her sunny disposition, and her affectionate nature, as she always had her arms out to give hugs, kisses and giggles.

 _Everyone except me_ , Thranduil thought.  He became sober, and fell silent.

“Do Elves have many children?”

“Not many. Since the forest became so sick, there have been fewer, but births are not as rare as outsiders like to think. We simply do not have big families like Men do. Elven couples usually only have one or two. Lord Elrond has three, but that is because the first two were identical twins.”

“I can imagine for an Elf, three is a real handful.”

“Oh, those twins were. Even one of them was harder to handle than anything Legolas could come up with.  Two of them was almost impossible.  There was no peace at Rivendell for nearly 120 years.” Thranduil smirked. “I felt genuinely sorry for Elrond and Celebrain.  Even now, the twins are wild, and pull outrageous pranks, when the mood strikes them. Their reputation is the stuff of legend, but I think they are good for their father.  Elrond is weighted down by many cares, and those two prevent him from drowning in it all."  Thranduil smirked a little.  "Still, I tried to limit my own children's time around them, before they got ideas."

"Oh, I'll bet." Bard grinned. “Speaking of Legolas, where is he? I haven't had a chance to thank him for helping my children at Laketown, and for helping with the refugees. I can’t find him, and when I ask Daeron, all he would tell me is, ‘I cannot say, My Lord.’ I asked Tauriel last evening, and she looked like I slapped her. Did he go back to Mirkw-, sorry,” Bard winced, “I mean, the Woodland Realm? Is he running things there for you?”

Thranduil froze. His knuckles were white and he was glad the cup was metal. If it were glass, it would have broken.

“Thranduil?”

He closed his eyes and rubbed them.  He did not want to lose this man’s respect. He did not want to lose this man’s friendship. He did not want to lose _anything_ with Bard...

“Thranduil?” This time Bard was sounding seriously concerned for him. “What's wrong?”

He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but it closed again. He looked deep into his cup, because he couldn’t look at the man’s face.

  
His voice trembled when he forced himself to say the words. “He is gone.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard's friendship means a great deal to Thranduil. What if he loses it, when Bard find out what he's really like? Will he see him differently, and not respect him? There's only one way to find out, isn't there?
> 
> Thranduil formally "meets the family," and a rather important reunion takes place....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a surprise for you, my beloved readers:
> 
> My friend, [Creepy Scientist](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/) has graciously agreed to provide illustrations for this chapter! I love them, and hope you do, too. Some are imbedded in Chapter Two, and the rest are here. The the drawings in their entirety have been added as an additional chapter at the end of the story.
> 
> Be sure to check out Creepy Scientist's blog [on Tumblr](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/) and you will see that she loves our beloved Kings as much as we do!

 

This time, Bard was the one to give instructions to one of the Thranduil’s guards.

“Which one of you speaks Westron? You’ll do. Send someone right away to tell Tauriel to put my kids to bed, and to stay with them. I’ll be late, so she can take my cot if she wants.” He turned to the other guard. “King Thranduil and I are not to be disturbed, understood?" 

“Yes, My Lord.” And the orders were carried out.

Bard took the Elvenking’s goblet, and set it on the table, then dragged his chair closer. He sat down, took the Elf’s hand and sat, while the he silently cried. Eventually, Thranduil squeezed his fingers, and began to calm down. When he finally stopped, the Elf reached in to his tunic, and started wiping his face with a grey handkerchief.

Bard broke the awkward silence with a wry smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve done more bawling in the past month and a half then I have in years. Ulmo’s Balls, is it something in the water?  Seems you're always yanking that thing out of your pocket."

Thranduil couldn’t help but laugh, as he wiped his eyes. He eyed his kerchief, observing, “I have always carried one of these, out of habit; now, I am continually reaching for it. I think you may be right.” He sniffed. “Perhaps, Mithrandir has put something in the wine."

“Could be. Want some wine, so we can blubber some more?"

He laughed again. “I am afraid to say yes, but I would like some."

The wine was gotten, and the wine was given.

After he sat back down, he waited in silence for a short time. Then, he gently prodded the Elvenking, “I know you might not want to talk about what just told me, but I think it will help,” he said to the lowered blond head.

“May I ask you something, Bard?” Thranduil looked up at him.

“Sure. Have at.” Bard encouraged him.

“When was the last time you talked about your wife?”

“Well, the other night, I was telling Sigrid how much she was like her mother.” He saw Thranduil was impressed, and continued.

“Look, I don’t want you to think it was easy for me, because it wasn’t.  It was torture – every bit of it. When Mattie first died, I couldn’t talk about her at all. I just couldn’t. The pain was... I can’t even describe it…” Bard swallowed, and leaned down, elbows on his knees, his cup in his hands. "Talking about those first few months - even thinking about them - isn't  easy. Did I tell you how she died?”

“Yes. The first day we met on the river, you mentioned it. She died giving birth to your youngest, yes?  And you named her after her mother?"

“Oh, that’s right; I did...   Truth be told, I avoided the subject for a while, just to stop feeling like I was…I don’t know… _bleeding_ inside all the time. Losing Mattie was the hardest thing I ever had to face in my life. Part of me still can’t believe it really happened.” Bard continued to look at the spot on the floor.

“I had to go on...  I didn't want to, sometimes, but I had no choice.  I had a brand-new baby, and two young children, so they kept me busy and helped keep me moving. But Sigrid was only eight, and Bain was six, and they kept asking about their Mam. They didn’t know any better. They couldn’t understand why she was gone, and I just... didn’t have it in me to answer them.” Bard swallowed again. “That was... a tough time…” he whispered. He studied his cup, lost in thought for a moment. He took a big swig, and continued. “Percy and Hilda helped. I couldn't have gotten though anything if I weren't for them."

“What made you want to speak of her again?” Thranduil wanted to know.

“Oh, I _didn't_ want to!” Bard huffed. “I just kept moving, with my head down, and I suppose I could have gone on like that for year, but, one day, Percy asked me to go out fishing with him. He took us way out on the Lake, out of earshot of everybody and anything else, and I started getting the nets ready, like usual.

"But he stopped me. ‘We’re not going to catch any fish today son,’ he said. ‘We’ll be making too much noise.’ Then he started talking about Mattie, how much he and Hilda loved her and missed her, and all the good times we had together. I just sat there and stared at him like he was cutting my insides out.  It felt cruel, like he wanted to rub salt in my open wound. And Valar, did it hurt! I thought he was betraying me, by hurting me like that.

“Finally, I had enough, and started yelling at the top of my lungs, screaming at him for what he was doing. I called him every filthy name I could think of to get him to shut up.” He gave the Elf a sheepish grin. “I know a lot of bad words, you know.”

“I am aware of your grasp of vulgar language. You gave an excellent demonstration the night you ruined your sword. You were quite, shall we say… _creative_.” Thranduil remarked.

Bard smirked. “I suppose I was.  Anyway, I kept screaming at him. I was trapped out there on the Lake and there was no getting away from him. It was Percy’s boat, so I couldn't force him to bring us in. I was good and stuck. When I realized I'd been set up, I wanted to throw him overboard, and told him so!” Bard shook his head and laughed.

“What did he say to that?”

“He said, ‘First of all, you’re a fucking _idiot_  if you think you can.  Second, you throw me overboard and I’m taking the bloody oars with me.’”  Bard snickered, and Thranduil joined him.

“And what did your friend Percy do with all of this noise you were making at him?” Thranduil was curious.

“He just sat. He sat, and _listened_. When I finally tired myself out, all he did was nod his head, and say, ‘Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.’ I didn’t know what he meant, then.  He dragged my arse out to the Lake many times, but I started to move past it.  Percy and Hilda kept telling me I needed to keep Mattie’s memory alive for the children, especially Tilda. He and Hilda never said, but they wanted me to keep her memory alive for myself too. The more I went out on the lake to hash myself out with Percy, the easier it got. But, even so…”  Bard closed his eyes. “It was…a hard,  _hard_ year...”

“I am sorry Bard. I did not think of how difficult this would -“

“No, no, it’s all right, I promise. Anyway, I could talk about her more and more, and started to move past it all. Then, I would catch myself once in a while, remembering some small thing, some silly, stupid thing she said or did, and it would make me feel good.” He smiled at the Elf, “It’s funny, you’d think the big things we shared would be what I remember most. But that's not true at all. It’s all those little, ordinary ‘nothing’ moments in life, that run through my head... I’ll always hurt that she was taken from me, and I’ll always love her. There's a piece of my heart that belongs to her and nobody else, but she'd never want me to be miserable and tragic for the rest of my life. She'd want me to be happy for myself, not just for my children.”

Thranduil looked down at his hands. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Thank you, for telling me this.” He whispered.

“Of course, Thranduil. We’re friends.” He reached over and took Thranduil’s hand, and kissed it. “Maybe we’re more.  Either way, I’m glad to be here, and I’m glad I know you.”

“I am glad, also.” Thranduil still didn’t look up at Bard.

“Are you all right?” he entwined his fingers with the Elf.

A heavy sigh. “I honestly do not know.” He was looking down, at their hands, clasped together.

“Can I help?”

“I am afraid you will not want to, after you know the truth about me.”

Bard looked at Thranduil, beginning to feel nervous. “What is it? Is it something about me, or Dale?”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that at all. Please do not worry about that. Everything we have discussed and decided has been honestly done.”  Thranduil was quick to assure him. “This is something about me.” He stopped, and swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just know that I am here, all right?”

“I need to tell you. I _want_ you to know this, because I do not want you to think that I am something I am not.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve seen plenty, and so far, except for sticking your nose in the air once in a while, I don’t see anything that would change how I think about you.”

“But there is. You deserve to know about what I am _really_ like.”

“What do you need me to know?” The Bowman prodded.

“I…see you…with your people, Bard, and I admire how easy it is for you to speak with them. I am not like that. I used to be. But not anymore, and not for a long time."

Bard wasn’t sure if he should ask the question, but it seemed a logical conclusion. "Was it after your wife died?"

Thranduil froze, not looking at him. Bard squeezed his fingers.  After another long pause, there was a whisper. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t make you cruel, Thranduil.  It just means that you’ve had a hard time with her death. Can I ask you something?”

The Elvenking gave a small nod.

“The gems you wanted from the mountain. Were they hers?”

Bard looked at his face, and saw the answer.

“Thranduil. I'm sorry. When you first came to Dale, I thought you were crazy to want to risk war for something like that. I didn’t know.”

“I think you understand now. But it was still a foolish thing to do. I should not have done it, no matter how badly I wanted them."

“Oh, I don’t think wanting your wife’s jewels were to blame. Remember when we were up on the rampart the other night, and you told me how the Valar helps us? Maybe it was something to do with that. In any case, like Gandalf was saying at Erebor, here we all are, and this a new beginning for the North. Don’t beat yourself up. To be honest, if my Mattie had something that precious, I might do my damnedest to get it back, too.” Bard squeezed his hand.

The Elf closed his eyes. “But… Bard… What if you lost something even more precious than that? What if you…ruined something that meant the most to your wife, something she loved more than anything, and could not repair it?” 

Bard sat for a long moment, considering. “Thranduil? Where _is_ Legolas?" 

After mustering his courage, the Elf said, “Legolas… He has left me, and I do not know if I will see my son again.” He took his hand back from Bard, and sat back on his chair, crossing his legs, hiding his face in his hand. The knuckles on his cup were white from gripping it so hard.

The Elf in a faraway voice, told him, “I was not like you. You are open and warm with your children. It is easy for you to show your love; you hug them, you kiss them, you laugh with them. I am glad for you, but it grieves me to see, because I used to be like that. But when... I was alone, I pulled away from my son. It was cruel; he needed me, and I didn’t… He was so young when -“ Thranduil couldn’t finish his sentence.

Bard sat back in his chair, watching him, trying to think of something that would help. He remembered something Percy had said to him, that first day on the Lake, and thought it might be worth a try. “So you stopped loving him."

“No! I could never do that! I have _always_ loved him!” Thranduil turned toward Bard angrily. “Do not say such things!”

Bard raised both hands, and said gently, “Please don’t be angry with me. I just wanted to remind you.”

“What could I _possibly_ have forgotten?” Thranduil was still angry.

“I wanted to remind you how it feels to say you love your son, out loud.” Bard was perfectly serious. “How long has it been since you actually said the words?”

Instantly the fight in the Elf left him. “I…I do love him. He is so... I love him. Very much.” He whispered, looking into Bard’s eyes. “He and Tauriel… I love them both, but I destroyed it all. And now…”

“Why did he leave?”

“Part of the reason is because he had feelings for Tauriel, which she did not return. She sees him as an older brother.  If that was the only reason, he might come back. But I do not think he will. I do not think he will ever want to.”

“Why do you think that?”

“He is gone, because I was a terrible father. A good father does not avoid his children, and I did. He looks so much like her, and I could not look at him without feeling pain.  It was a cruel thing, and I did not mean to, but I pushed him away."  He hardly got the next words out, his voice was breaking so much. “And now…it is too late. He believes…I did not want him, anymore."

“Oh, Thranduil…” Bard put their cups on the table, then pulled the Elvenking into his arms. He didn’t know what else to do. He couldn't imagine what it must be like, and his heart hurt for the Elf.

After several minutes, he kissed Thranduil’s temple, and eased him back down to his seat. Then he pulled the other chair even closer, so it was sitting in front of his throne, with Bard holding his hands.

“Is Legolas just wandering, or do you know where he is?”

“I sent him to find the Rangers in the North.  Their base is in Rivendell, and I've written to Elrond to expect him, and asked him to notify me, should he come to any harm. Bard, I despise myself for how we parted, and for so many things I cannot change. There too many things that cannot be made right. I am sickened, when I think how I...” His eyes threatened to spill over with tears.

“And you love him.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Can I ask you something?” Bard reached over and touched the side of his face, using his thumb to wipe away a tear. Thranduil nodded. “I get the impression from you, that your children were deprived of all affection.  I don’t think it’s true.”

“No, of course not. Galion made sure they had everything they needed. The children love him as an Uncle, and he loves them dearly.  But it does not make up for what they should have had from me."

 “I won’t insult you, by pretending that’s not true, but you can't let what's happened in the past stop you from doing what's right."  Bard squeezed his hands.  "Thranduil, _anyone_ can see Galion is devoted to you. If he thought there was no hope for you, I doubt he'd be here at all.  I think, if you’re ready to try to change things, he'll do his utmost to help. Your children trust him, and he can help them learn to trust you.” He leaned over and kissed him. “I'll help you, too, if you’ll let me.”

Thranduil considered this gratefully, and nodded.

“You said you didn’t used to be this way, that it had changed when your wife died?”

Thranduil nodded again, and said, “When I first came back to the Woodland Realm, after losing my father, I had a difficult time; especially after my mother left for Valinor.”

“Well, when your wife was alive, did you push her away like that?” He asked gently.

Thranduil, again, seemed insulted and became stiff, his eyes turning cold. 

“Please, please, bear with me. I don’t mean to hurt you. I really don’t. What I want to know is, when you had your wife with you, you never missed a chance to let her know she was loved, right? And, even though it’s terrible that she's gone, you don’t have to ever wonder if there was more you could've told her. She died knowing she was loved.”

Thranduil, his memories stirring, said a painful, “Yes.  Even in her last moments, she knew.  Why are you -"

“Please listen to me. Don't worry about me changing how I feel about you. What you described is not the person I'm learning to know. I don’t see this cold, heartless, unfeeling Ice King others to believe about you. I just don’t see that. In fact, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, you never were really like that.

"No, wait, let me finish.” He saw the Elvenking about to protest. “Let me tell you what I think, all right? I think you were so torn apart by her death, you didn’t know what else to do to stop bleeding inside. I know this - I’ve been through it, remember? I loved my wife every bit as much as you loved yours. And you ran away from it. You hid inside yourself for a while, yeah? That didn’t mean you stopped feeling all of it, did it?”

The Elf shook his head, not taking his eyes off him.

“Are you hiding now?” Bard asked gently.

“I do not think I am anymore.”

“I don’t think so either. In fact, I know so. And I can prove it.” Bard took the Elf’s face in his hands and said, “I saw the way you were with those children the other day. That is the Thranduil I know, and learning to care more about every day. That's who you really are. It's how you were with your wife, when she was alive. You’ve just forgotten for a while, do you see?”

They looked at each other, then slowly brought their foreheads together.

Bard continued, “You'll never have to wonder if you could've loved your wife better, and that’s a good thing. I wish there was something I could say to help with the time you lost with Legolas as and Tauriel - I would if I could, I swear.  But think on this, Thranduil. Your children are _still_   _here_. And, even if you can’t change the past, you still have time to change things now. You can make it right, again. I promise you, it’s not too late.”

A small whisper. “I do not know how to do that.”

“That’s all right; you don’t have to know right this minute. For now, think on how much you _want_ to.” He kissed the Elf’s forehead. “Think on how much I know you wouldn't hurt your son or daughter, if you could help it. Just think on how much you love them."

At this point, they both had tears on their face.

 

***************

 

“Have the items I requested from the Palace arrived yet, Galion?”

It was two days after Thranduil’s confession about Legolas. Bard had been attentive and considerate with Thranduil, holding his hand under the table, and kissing him, between meetings, and at lunch, making sure the Elvenking knew his feelings had not changed. Thranduil still berated himself. He probably always would, but it helped a lot to know Bard understood. He understood everything.  To Thranduil's surprise, he didn't even think badly of him, and this gave him hope for himself.

“The items came just this morning, with the reports from Commander Feren and the notes from Royal Council, My Lord. They are on your bed. Also, the package you’ve been concerned about is finished, and in the box on your bedside table. I took the liberty of having some more clothing brought for you, as it seems we will be here for quite some time.”

“Excellent. Thank you."

Thranduil was excited, although no one would ever notice it, apart from his Chief Aide, of course. He nagged at Galion several times today about the dinner being served tonight for Bard and his children, to make sure all was in place.

 

***************

 

Galion had the good sense not to be annoyed. He was pleased to see his King take such a personal interest in Bard and his family. There had been a change in Thranduil, since the Dwarves showed up in the Woodland Realm, setting off a chain of events that rocked the foundations of life in the North, for both evil and good. King Oropher’s son seemed to be finally shaken from his misery and loneliness, and Galion was cautiously optimistic for him to move forward from the tragedies that had befallen him.

He had loved Thranduil since he was born, helping to raise him, see to his schooling, arrange for his military training, and was witness to all the milestones in his life. Mírelen was a joy to his King, and he himself loved her too. When the Queen was giving birth, it was Galion who waited with Thranduil, and paced with him, until a tiny cry was heard in the Royal Apartments of the Palace. It was Galion who the King turned to, in that joyous moment, throwing their arms around each other. It was Galion who observed the look of wonder on his face the first time he saw his tiny son.

When the Queen was taken from them, Galion did his best to help Thranduil, but he had closed off again. So, Galion made it up to Legolas, and, later, Tauriel as much as possible. He made sure their caregivers were firm, but kind and affectionate. Neither child ever lacked affection or the things any child would want. They were cherished by all the inhabitants of the Palace. He did know Thranduil loved them as well, and witnessed him make attempts at bridging the gap between him and his son, then back off, hurt, when Legolas pulled away from him. He encouraged the King to keep trying, but it was too hard and discouraging.

  
Now, things seemed different, and this gave Galion hope.

He'd been observing the two Kings since the Battle. Bard was good for Thranduil; he was helping Thranduil find himself again. There was a growing affection between the two of them, Galion could sense it.  When Thranduil had his nightmare, Bard had spent the night with him. The morning after, Galion had entered the tent, to see about breakfast, and saw the two of them sleeping, in their clothes, with Bard holding the Elvenking in a protective embrace. It was an unexpected and pleasing sight.

The best sign of good things to come, was Thranduil was _finally_ talking to him, and he was opening up to Bard. If this Man was the one who could bring his King some happiness, then he was going to do his best to help it along, regardless of any consequences to the Woodland Realm. 

 

***************

 

“My Lord, King Bard, Prince Bain, Princess Sigrid and Princess Tilda have arrived.”

“Thank you, Galion.” Thranduil said from his sleeping chamber. He'd been checking some last-minute things, and making sure his hair and outfit were just right. It felt a bit ridiculous to be fussing so - but he couldn’t help it; he was nervous. After a bit of a debate, he decided against wearing his crown, and dispensed with his formal robes, settling for a grey tunic and darker grey leggings. They were the plainest things he had with him; he wanted  Bard’s children to feel comfortable, so, ornate clothing might be off-putting.

His family was everything to Bard, what if they didn’t like him?

 _Stop_ , he told himself.

He blew out his breath, plastered a smile on his face, and walked into the Main Area to greet his guests. “Good evening everyone! I am glad you could come.”

The children bowed and curtsied politely to Thranduil. They must have been practicing, as it was very well done. Bard gave him an official nod, and said, “Good evening to you as well, Lord Thranduil. We are glad to be here.”

“I thank you. Now, let us dispense with Royal Titles, shall we? I would like us to be comfortable, and enjoy ourselves, what do you think?” he looked at the children for their approval, and they all nodded their heads, relieved. “Please, sit and make yourselves comfortable.” As they took their seats around the table that had been set with bowls and plates, Thranduil said, “I have heard a great deal about all of you from your father, and even the Lady Hilda has had much to say about you.  I wonder though, if you have any questions for me?”

They all seemed shy at first, and Bard sat in his chair with that half-smile of his, waiting for one of them to speak. They were all surprised when it was Tilda who piped up first.

“I think you have pretty hair.”

“Why thank you, Tilda. That is a nice thing to say. I do rather like it myself.”

“It’s very light, and so is Legolas’s. Most of the other elves have darker hair.” Sigrid observed.

“You are correct. That is because my father and mother have light hair, and did not come from the Woodland Realm. We are Sindarin Elves, or Grey Elves, in the Common Tongue. We came from a land long ago, called Doriath. Galion, and some of my staff are also from there, and many of them had dark hair, as well. The other Elves you see are called Silvan Elves. They have always lived in the Greenwood. Their hair is usually darker, or auburn, like Tauriel.”

“What’s the difference between you? I didn’t know there were different kinds of Elves.”

“That is an excellent question, Bain. There are many stories that tell the history of the different Elves on Middle Earth, and they are written in many books. I cannot tell you all of them tonight, but I can tell you a little bit about the land where my father came from, and how we came to be here.” So, he told them the stories of Doriath, how Elu Thingol met and fell in love with the Maia Melian, and the protective girdle she placed around their kingdom. He spoke of the vast caverns Thingol had made for his people. “In fact, when our own Palace was shaped and built, my father wanted it to be very much like Menegroth, because he had loved it so.”

“What happened to make you move to Mirkwood?” At the name, Bard cleared his throat and subtly shook his head at Bain. “Oh, sorry.”

“That is all right, although I much prefer if you call it the Greenwood, or the Woodland Realm, if you would. I like to think of it as it was, in hopes it might be again, someday. To answer your question, Bain, I have never seen the caves my father grew up in. I was only born after he and my mother traveled to that area and become King and Queen of the Woodland Realm.” Then he told them, of his father’s journey here, and how the Silvans wanted Oropher to be their King.

“Is Menegroth still there?”

“No, I am afraid it is not, it is now under the Sea of Beleriand. I am glad my father wished to preserve some of the beauty of it in his own Kingdom, was it not?”

“What happened?” Bain asked, interested.

“There were terrible battles, but I do not think I will speak of that just now. It is much too pleasant an evening to be thinking about such things, do you not agree? Perhaps, some other time, Bain, I will tell you of it.”

Bain reluctantly agreed.

“Your father must have been really old.” Tilda said. Bard raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

“Yes, he was. He was born during the First Age of Middle Earth, and he left us at the end of the Second Age. He was a very good King.”

“Are you old too?”

Thranduil laughed, and smiled at her. “Yes, I am afraid I am.”

“How old?” She was curious. Bard gave her a gentle, warning look, and she shrunk down a little, embarrased.

“No, that is quite all right. It was a fair question, because you know little about Elves, is this correct?” All the children nodded their heads. "I can assure that, although some of the race of Men do not like to be asked their age, particularly the females, we Elves do not mind it in the least. I was born towards the end of the Second Age of Middle Earth, by your calendar, in the year 2537. I am now 3,845 years old.”

Three pairs of eyes as wide as saucers looked up at him, and he smiled, amused at their amazement. He even saw Bard having difficulty taking it all in.

“Whoa,” Bain breathed.

“That’s really, _really_ old.” Sigrid, normally much more eloquent, couldn’t come up with anything better.

“I think we had better have our evening meal now, do you not agree? Galion has told me he is serving the stew you all seemed to like so much, and the Lady Hilda has given our cooks quite an education regarding your preferences. Shall we see if they can cook as well as she?”

Galion entered the tent with a tray, holding a serving dish of the venison stew, full of vegetables and potatoes, and a plate of rolls with butter. Bard had asked to be served simpler fare, and family style, as the informality will help them feel comfortable. There were even glasses of goat milk for them. Before the Desolation, Bard couldn’t afford it that often, and the children thought of it as a treat.

While they ate their dinner, Thranduil asked the children their ages, and what some of their favorite things to do were. Bain, who was thirteen, was full of questions about his weapons, and all the armor worn by him and his Army. He spoke in admiration of Tauriel’s bow, and her twin knives, and told him how she demonstrated her quickness with them. This impressed the boy, which reminded Thranduil of Legolas’s curiosity of such things at that age.

He asked fifteen-year-old Sigrid what she thought of the Healers she had met, when they all were visiting their troops. He knew she was keen to learn more about it, and his Chief Healer had spoken to the King about some of the questions she had been asking. Thranduil agreed with Bard, that the children should be given vocations and have tactile ways of serving their people, not just be figureheads. He was encouraged to see the children also wanted this for themselves.

“And now, Miss Tilda, can you tell me what it is you like to do?” he asked the seven-year-old.

“Well, I liked to help Sigrid with the house, when we had one, and Auntie Hil was teaching me my letters. I can write them, too. I can read some, but not much. I love to draw things, when Da could get paper. I just learned how to tie my shoes, by myself, too.”

“That is a big accomplishment, I must tell you. My son Legolas took a long time to do this. We were becoming worried he would never learn.  Poor Galion was afraid he would have to follow Legolas when he was out on patrol, to tie his shoes for him!” He smiled at the little girl as she turned her head to his Aide, who was standing by.

Galion, in the spirit of things, nodded to Tilda, and said, “Yes My Lady, I am afraid it is true. At the time, Prince Legolas had no desire to learn such things, and he was quite stubborn, and was only too happy to let others do it for him. As a last resort, I had to tell him he could never be a soldier unless he learned to do such things for himself. Soldiers of the Woodland Realm simply could not run, or jump through trees with loose laces. So, if he still refused to learn, then he would have to work in our libraries, copying scrolls and books all his life. Thankfully, it worked.”

They all laughed at that. Bain then said, “Boy am I glad he did! He was _amazing_ when he and Tauriel came to our house! He was so _fast_! He had one Orc’s head-“

Thranduil raised his hand with a patient smile, “I am proud you think so. And I truly would like to hear all about the brave deeds of my son, so perhaps you and I could talk in greater detail some other time, yes? Without our lovely ladies, here?” Tilda was becoming uncomfortable. He looked over at Bard, who gave a slight nod of approval. She had only recently started to come out of her shock, and he didn’t want to see her progress slowed.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Bain apologized.

“Do not be. I see you are interested in military matters, and this is a good thing. Your interests will serve you well.”

Galion had cleared off their dinner dishes, and was refilling everyone’s glasses, and left. Thranduil had taken pity on Bard, and sent for a different vintage of wine, which was much less potent. When his Aide returned, he was bearing a tray with a large plate full of berry tarts, and set them down triumphantly. Thranduil didn’t even know the tarts had been made for them, and was pleasantly surprised, as these were a particular favorite of his. Apparently, by the gasps from the children, they approved, as well.

“Come now, children, help yourselves.” He took several, and then passed the plate to his left, where Bain took about five of them. He was going to take more, but he caught Bard’s eye, and stopped himself. Ah. Bain had healthy appetite, which reminded him of his own boy at that stage. But he refused to become sad. Not tonight.

Their chatter continued, during dessert. When they were finally done, Bain asked to see his armor, and Thranduil was happy to show him, as it truly was beautiful. He told Bain how it had been forged with mithril by the Dwarves of Moria, as a gift from his father. It was fitted and made after the Elven door there was made by Celebrimbor, when there was friendship between Dwarves and Elves. Thranduil explained how nothing could penetrate it, yet it was light enough so he could move around quickly.

He also showed Bard and Bain his swords, with the intricate negative-space vine and leaf carvings in their handles. Even the girls were fascinated with them. He showed the differences between them, the one that belonged to his father, and the one he had been presented with. Bain was allowed to hold one, but only in its sheath, as they were sharp enough to split a hair. The boy was surprised to learn Thranduil took care of his armor and weapons himself.

“Do not be surprised, Bain. It is soldier’s duty to care for that which protects him. If one suffers injury because he neglected his armor and weaponry, he only has himself to blame. I am no exception. In fact, I enjoy doing it; it helps to relax me after a skirmish, or even when I practice. I find it calms me.”

When the boy expressed surprise that Thranduil still practiced, told him, “Oh, yes, Bain. I do practice regularly. I enjoy it, and it keeps my skills sharp. I have a set of dulled swords, the same shape and weight to spar with. To excel at anything, one must be completely dedicated and disciplined. I have no doubt you will be the same.”

Overall, it was a wonderful evening, and he could see the children thought so, as well. All too soon, it was time for them to go, as Tauriel and Daeron arrived to escort Bard and his family to their tent.

“Before you leave, children, I hope your father does not mind, but I have some things I would like to give you.” Bard looked at him, with a puzzled smile on his face. Thranduil sent Galion in to the other chamber, and he returned with some books.

“Lady Sigrid, my Chief Healer told me your questions to him were thoughtful and detailed, and he was impressed by your eagerness. These are books that have been copied in Westron, written by Elrond Peredhil, who is the best Healer in Middle Earth. This one details plants and herbs that are often used in our Halls of Healing. They are full of drawings to help you learn to find them, and how to apply them. You will find throughout your work in this field, there is no better resource.” The other book was larger, heavier. “This is a volume that details treatments of injuries, and illnesses suffered by the race of Men. It also includes information on the treatment of Elves, and even some Dwarven references, although not many. May they both serve you well, Sigrid, Princess of Dale.”

Sigrid gasped, staring at them like the treasured volumes they were. She took them, with eyes shining, and managed to say, “Thank you, Lord Thranduil. I promise to take good care of them. Thank you!”

Then he turned to Bain. “Lord Bain, I can see from our conversation this evening, my gifts to you were a good choice.” Galion brought Thranduil a bow, and a practice sword. “I am glad you are impressed with my son’s skills in weaponry. Here is a practice sword, suited to your stature. Your father has given his permission to have Tauriel begin your basic training. She, as you know, is skilled with fighting knives, but everyone must begin by becoming proficient with a sword. In my Kingdom, an Elf must earn his sword, and it is an important milestone in his or her life. I hope this will help you achieve this goal, and it would be my great honor to present you with an Elven sword, as a gift from the Woodland Realm, when it is deemed you are ready.

Please accept these items, as they were used by Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, when he was training for his life as a fighter. They are yours to keep now, to be passed down to your own son, and to future heirs to the throne.

“Here is a bow which also matches your stature and strength. A full-sized bow will not be suitable, as it would prove difficult for you to fully draw. I have no doubt you will do so soon, under your father’s tutelage. He is an expert Archer, and you will find no better teacher. May you become the fiercest warrior Dale has ever seen, Bain, son of Bard, Crown Prince and Future King of Dale.”

Poor Bain was speechless. He held the items reverently, running his fingers over the rich wood, and the steel of the sword. He looked up at the tall Elvenking and tried to form words that would suffice to show his gratitude, but nothing would come out. Thranduil took pity on him, and placed his hand upon Bain’s head, smiling, “You are most welcome.”

He caught Bard’s eye who was visibly moved by this generosity. Galion then brought a long, wrapped bundle and set it on the table. Thranduil turned to Bain, again. “It is impossible for your father to instruct you in archery at this time, as his own bow was broken, the night you bravely helped him save your people. I wish to remedy this, so your training can continue.”

Galion unwrapped the bundle, to reveal a full-sized Elven bow made of yew wood. It had been polished to perfection, mostly plain, yet inlaid subtly in gold, with the meandering vines and leaves of the Woodland Realm. Beside it, was a leather quiver full of arrows. Bard’s eyes were wide with surprise, as the children gasped.

“Da! It’s beautiful! Just look at it!” Sigrid cried. “Look at the designs on it!"

Bain dashed over to get a closer look, while Bard stared down at it, running his fingers over the smooth surface. Thranduil watched Bard as he picked it up and examined it with expertise, checking the weight and balance of it, feeling the grip, wound with strings of softened leather, and the strong, bowstring made of silk, ready to fit in the nock on the upper limb. The enthralled look on the Bowman’s face told him it was exactly right for Bard. He had seen Bard with a bow from the Dale armory, practicing, and he had ordered one with the same shape and exact dimensions brought from the Woodland Realm.

This Elven bow was of the highest quality, and would serve the King of Dale well for years.

Bard’s eyes searched for his, as if shaking himself awake. “Thank you, Thranduil. This is..." He swallowed. "I've never had one as good as this.” He tried to keep his voice steady and light.

Thranduil waved his hand trying to lighten the mood a bit, “Think nothing of it. If we wish Bain to have the best training, then we must make sure his instructor is outfitted with the best equipment, is this not true?” Bard nodded to him, swallowing, and smiled.

But he wasn’t done yet, and he had saved the best for last.

He went down on one knee in front of Tilda, and even then, she had to look up at him. “So, now, we come to you, _Tithen Pen._  I am glad you came to dine with me tonight with your family. Your father will be a good King, and I think you will be a an excellent Princess. I know this, because you are trying hard to learn your letters, and to read, and to help others.  Tauriel tells me that Master Bofur, has become a friend of yours?” She nodded. “This is good. I hope you and I can become friends as well.

“Your life has changed a great deal, _hênig._ I imagine all these new things are hard get used to, yes?"

Tilda nodded up at him again.

"Perhaps I can help you with that.” He looked into those blue eyes, and smiled. “Things are always easier when if you have friends to help you adjust to your new life.” Galion was standing by Thranduil’s side and handed the wooden box down to the Elvenking, so he could present it to her. “It is my honor to give you this, and I hope it makes you very happy, Tilda, Princess of Dale.”

He held out the box to her, and she looked down at it for a long, quiet moment. Everyone went still and all eyes were on the little girl, as she slowly opened the box. There, repaired, restored, re-sewn, and with all-new red woolen hair lay Charlotte, her doll. A loud gasp went through the older children and Bard. Sigrid, clapped both hands over her mouth, and had to turn away, to contain her emotion. Bard’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and he steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. Bain just stood there, his eyes popping.

Tilda slowly picked up her beloved friend, as if she was in a dream. She held her in both hands, staring intently at her, not saying a word. She was silent and still for many minutes, and Thranduil set the box in the ground with a worried look at her father. Perhaps he had made a mistake, and this was going to trigger memories, and upset her more. He was beginning to feel terrible.

Then Tilda started to make little gasping sounds, and her mouth started to turn down a bit.

Thranduil winced, and closed is eyes.  _Oh no..._

Before he could finish his thought. Two arms were suddenly wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, and she was hugging the King of the Woodland Realm as hard as her little body would let her.

 

 

 

 

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**  
_Tithen pen -_ Little one

 

**NOTES:**

Forgive me, but I fudged the timelines of Moria and the Elves’ friendship with the Dwarves a bit to include Thranduil’s lifetime, so they could make the Gems of Lasgalen. I also decided, since there has been no reference to Thranduil’s birth, he was born in S.A. year 2537, and he was 904 years old when the second age ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The middle of June, already! It seems only yesterday that 2017 began...
> 
> If any of you are fond of the Sigrid/Fili pairing, here is a wonderful story by [MagicMarker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMarker/pseuds/MagicMarker), called Never Did Run Smooth that you might enjoy.
> 
> I like the [Muses](http://archiveofourown.org/series/356012) series by [ofplanet_earth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth) very much. Have you read it? This is such a great Modern AU verse, and I adore how Sigrid, Bain and Tilda were. I’d love to see more, because Thranduil's relationship with Tilda is too sweet! (That's a hint, by the way... :-P)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil each take some time to reflect, and search their feelings. Bard has an unexpected visitor, with some sound advice. Thranduil knows what he wants, but has a huge problem. 
> 
> Is there a solution?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this latest installment, and be sure to check out the wonderful illustration done by the very talented [here!](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/>Creepy%20Scientist</a>%20whose%20blog,%20Apostate,%20can%20be%20found%20on%20<a%20href=)
> 
> There are five wonderful short stories submitted by several authors for this year's [Barduil Mini Bang](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Barduil%20Mini%20Bang/works), thanks to the coordination of our lovely [bereniceofdale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/pseuds/bereniceofdale). I think you'll enjoy them!
> 
> Thanks always for reading, and for your kudos and comments!

 

 

Bard strode through his settlement and toward the Elvenking’s tent at a brisk pace, with Daeron keeping up behind him. As he walked, his heart started pounding, and he moved faster, as if he was afraid Thranduil might be gone, if he didn’t get there _right now._

 

~o0o~

 

It had been an excellent evening.

After dinner and his Little Bean’s joyous reunion with her friend, they all wiped their eyes, and said their thank-you’s and goodbyes. The children kept up a happy babble on their way back to their own place, to get ready for baths and bed. It took a long time for them to settle down, because they were all so excited about their gifts. Once everyone was clean, Bain was sitting on his bed, running his hands over his bow, his fingers tracing the Elven words written on it. Sigrid was sitting cross-legged, looking through her new reference books, and Tilda was almost asleep, with Charlotte back where she belongs.

He couldn’t believe Thranduil had found the doll, and the excellent job they did restoring her. The surprise didn’t end there.

After Tilda had finally let go of her new friend, the King of the Woodland Realm, Galion cleared his throat, saying, “Excuse me My Lord, but I believe there is something else in the box, if the Lady Tilda would wish to look.” If it would have been behavior becoming an Elf, Galion would have danced a jig, because he knew what was in there. Not even Thranduil knew about it.

Tilda lifted the little blanket underneath Charlotte, then squealed with delight.

The Tailor’s Guild of the Woodland Realm had jumped at the challenge given to them by their King; to make the bedraggled, bloodstained doll look as good as new. Once that was finished, they had decided one set of clothing simply wasn’t befitting a toy for the smallest Princess of Dale, and they were determined to rectify this. So, Charlotte was returned to her owner, accompanied by an entire wardrobe.

Sigrid knelt on the rug with her sister, going through everything the Elves had outfitted Charlotte with. Several dresses, in varying colors and styles had been provided: The everyday clothes were simpler, then a formal little gown in blue, after the fashions of the Laketown women. There was another formal gown, such as elves wear, in lavender, with gold embroidery. There was even a green uniform, like Tauriel’s, complete with a little soft, leather jerkin. Additionally, there was a grey riding outfit, nightshirts, underclothes, stockings, cloaks and even several pairs of tiny boots and shoes.

Thranduil had stood up, while the girls were examining the contents of the box, and went to stand next to Bard. They both looked over at Galion who was as smug as Bard had ever seen him. “Did you know about this?” Bard asked him.

“Yes, My Lord. I cannot take credit for the idea, but I must say I heartily approve.” From the look on Galion’s face, he was having more fun pulling a fast one his King.

 

After his children were asleep behind the flaps of their sleeping area, Bard sat at the table in his tent for a long time. His new bow and quiver had been wrapped again lovingly, and put away under his cot. The lamps were lit, some papers were on the table in front of him, but he couldn’t concentrate on them. He sat back, and crossed his feet on another chair. His fingers absently stroked his chin, as he contemplated many things.

The last six weeks had been such a whirlwind.  Love for his family had always been the main motivation for his thoughts and actions.  Even the smuggling he did for the townspeople, stemmed from his need to provide for them. He did what he had to do - with the high taxes the Master had imposed, his kids would have been undernourished and ill with what his normal wages would buy. It was more to the good that other townsfolk had benefitted, too.

But it all was different, now!  He’d never have to worry about his family eating well again, thanks to Thranduil.  He knew until Dale could be self-sustaining, the Woodland Realm would provide it. This blessing would be the same for all his people; a plenty they’d never known, and a hope they had never known.  After all the hardships and tragedies wrought upon his people, this was a new, better beginning.

His children were now a Prince and Princesses, and their lives were going to change in ways even Bard didn’t know yet. He hoped their eagerness to serve would sustain them, because it will be an enormous adjustment to go from a poor, anonymous child, to representing your country every day, and the pressure on them would be great.

Ever since Mattie died, those three had been the most important beings in his life, but now, something was changing. Nothing would lessen his love or devotion for his children, but his heart was making room for something else.

His heart was making room for _**s**_ ** _omeone_** else...

He’d never been with anyone in a physical way before Mattie. In his youth, there were flirtations, some kissing, with both men and women; he enjoyed them both. Apart from some groping, a hand on a girl’s breast, or another boy putting a hand on his cock, that had been it. Back then, those were dalliances of the young, based on hormones, infatuation, and curiosity. It felt wonderful, but wasn’t the stuff of songs.

When he first saw Mattie, he fell in love with her. It was like a thunderbolt. Yes, she was beautiful and had eyes he could drown in.  But he _**wanted**_ to drown in her. He was lucky she felt the same way, because it would’ve been torture had she not returned his feelings. In this sense, he felt pity for Legolas. He couldn’t imagine what the boy was going through.

Bard couldn’t help but laugh. Boy?  Ulmo’s Balls, the Elf was probably a thousand years old! Now _that_ was hard to get used to; the agelessness of their race.

When he and Mattie were married, their first night together was something that will burn in his memory forever. The incredible feeling of her soft, warm skin next to his; her beautiful body under his hands, exploring her, suckling on her breasts, while she moaned softly, her hands tangled in his hair. When he entered her wet, soft heat for the very first time was a perfection he had never even known could exist in this life.

Of course, men would talk about sex;  they always talked about sex, didn’t they? They made lewd jokes and sang bawdy songs and tried to make light of it. They bragged about their members, lied to each other about their accomplishments, trying to give the impression their conquests were many, and casual. Bard had done his share of this, too.

But when a man has _really been_ with someone, body and soul, and the act was borne from genuine, consuming love, it was completely overwhelming. After experiencing it with Mattie, Bard understood why many men turn into braggadocios. They were _frightened_ , that’s what it was. How could they not be, after they learned that _truly making love_ with someone would slice open their souls, leaving it so bare, so open, so exposed?

That’s what it was like with Mattie. He couldn’t help but cry out when he first entered her, and it only got better from there. He couldn’t begin describe the sensation the first time he came inside of her, and to feel her pulsating around him when she climaxed. It was like being enveloped in pure sunlight, yet there were also stars. Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, full of love and wonder.  It was like that each time with her. For ten years, he was lucky enough to know the most perfect bliss this side of Arda.

When she died, it wasn’t just his soul that was bereft; his skin screamed in agony at the sudden loss of the greatest joy it had ever known. Joy it would never feel again within her. He’d never feel her softness or warmth again, never hear her cries as they were together. He still had physical needs and desires, so on the nights he would touch himself, it was Mattie he was pretending was there with him; thoughts of her moist heat, her hands, her mouth, her face, her noises, would cause him to get even harder, until lightening ran down to the base of his spine, and he found release. And he would lie there afterwards, feeling even more alone.

As Bard sat, thinking on these things, the memory of his wife and his loss washed over him anew. He missed her. _Oh Valar, he missed her…_ He would've been the happiest man alive, if he could have grown old with his Mattie; he would be content to hold her always, and watch their children grow up and give them grandchildren.

But it _hadn’t_ happened that way. Suddenly she was gone, and he'd been with no one since. It wasn’t as if he didn’t think about it; there were certainly a couple of women in Laketown who would've been more than willing, as well as one man. They were good people, too, and would've done their best to make him happy, and been good to his children.

He even stepped out a couple of times, in an attempt to move on with his life. Hilda forced him to try, but he just couldn’t go far with it. When he kissed them – and he only kissed two, mind you - it was full of… _nothing - that_ was the only way to describe it. Those kisses only reminded him of that void Mattie had left behind, and it was foolish to try and find something which he'd never have again. The attempt made him lonelier than ever.

That part of his life was over forever, and he should feel thankful he had it at all. Not everyone was blessed enough to find such a perfect match for his heart, and despite his loss, he was thankful.   _Best to let it go_ , _and be done with it,_ he told himself.  And he had. He resolved to let his memories be enough, and learned to find contentment with his children, and with his friends.

Then a bunch of Dwarves washed up on the shores of the Forest River, and the Mountain shook with the sounds of the Dragon awakening, and all he had known was gone. He was left with his children and the clothes on their backs and nothing to eat, when an Elvenking rode into Dale. During the last month and a half, he found himself questioning all he believed about himself, and his solitary life.

 _Everything_ was different, now. He thought about Thranduil constantly. He dreamed about him, even; one night he woke up to find he had come on himself during a dream of their bodies locked together. Then, when had his nightmare, he met Thranduil on the Eastern Parapet, and was taken to his tent. That night, he couldn’t stand it anymore; he _had_ _to_ _know_ what those lips tasted like!  Maybe it was the wine that made him brave, but he had reached for the Elf, and hung on. Just the thought of it, even though it was only kissing, made his cock twitch now as the blood rushed to his loins.

He _wanted_ Thranduil. He did. Valar, simply thinking of putting his hands on him, to feel him, to come in him, or perhaps Thranduil inside of him… Bard moaned softly, as he closed his eyes, and forced himself to stop thinking about it.

He had to stop, because Bard had things to consider, before things went any further.

Here was the fork in the road, and he needed to decide _now_ which path to take.

At this point, he'd still be able to cease thoughts of Thranduil, as a possibility for him, for the good of his children, for his people, and this new Kingdom of Dale.  He could do it, if he stopped _right_ _now_. They could back off, and remain simply friends, and he could learn to be content with it.  It was important he consider carefully, because there wasn’t just his own, or even Thranduil’s feelings involved. There was so much outside _noise_ about all of this, and it all had to be settled before he would feel free to follow where his heart seemed to point.

He had to think of the children first, of course. Would they be all right? Would a relationship with the Elf benefit them, or could it hurt them? Would they be damaged at all, if something were to happen that ended their relationship, such as a separation, or death?

No. Even if the worst were to happen, they would be fine. Should something occur that would should cause a break-off with the Elvenking, the children had enough support and love from so many others, they would make it through. Plus, and this was a huge consideration: Thranduil possessed quality and honor and would still maintain affection for them, should he no longer have it for their father.  And if Bard were to die, he knew Thranduil would watch over and support throughout their lives.

What about his people? How would they feel about their King being with an Elf? What about the fact their King would be with another _man?_ He knew there were a few people that held strong opinions in his country.  But, overall, this was not something to be worried about. There was a blend of cultures in Laketown, and he was looking forward to continuing this, in Dale.  Middle Earth was not riddled with the utter stupidity of religious or moral wars. Yes, most of the reasons for starting a war were senseless, but never something so ridiculous as murdering people because they had different theologies.

So _that’s_ settled.

Dale is a new country - what about diplomatic relations? This is a grave concern. What if Dale had to depend upon a relationship with a nation that had serious issues with it? Bard didn’t know how countries in other lands would feel about a _King_ being with a man, and it could cause consequences for his people.

But that was no longer an obstacle. His country was under the permanent protection of the Woodland Realm. Two days before, as promised, Thranduil presented him with the document bearing his seal and signature which affirmed the Woodland Realm’s commitment to protect and aide Dale, with no expiration date. This reassured Bard his city was safe regardless of what would come.

He had also heard there was a country to the East of them whose ruler had seven wives. It stood to reason, the various Free Nations who were willing to treat with each other did not seem judgmental about traditions of the other, so that was a huge comfort.

Finally, it was down to the Elf himself. What would Thranduil want out of this? Did he want the same things Bard did? What are their traditions and their customs concerning such a thing? He honestly didn’t know.  He knew he wanted Thranduil. He knew he could love him; he probably already did. But, Bard knew himself: He could never settle for a meaningless dalliance. It was simply not what he wanted, and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. He wanted to be all in, heart and soul, or he would have to walk away. He couldn’t be something he was not. If he tried, it would end in disaster.

There was another problem. This was the biggest obstacle, and the final one.

Bard’s life span would only allow him another thirty-five to forty years. More if he was lucky; less if he was killed or fell ill. Either way, Bard could live the rest of his natural life happy with Thranduil. Long or short, he would have a happy end. But there was no conceivable way for the Elvenking to have the same. For him, it will end in grief…

How could he do it to him, if he truly cared about him?

At this, Bard let out a sad sigh, and closed his eyes.

He should forget this whole thing, no matter what Thranduil wants, to protect him from the pain. He was learning how deeply Thranduil has been scarred, by the death of his wife, and the loss of his son. Bard was not the type to be cruel, and to know he would be tearing Thranduil’s heart open, when he'd die, was reprehensible. How could he live with himself, especially after Thranduil had suffered the loss of his parents, his wife, and now, his only child? When Thranduil spoke about Legolas, it broke the Bowman's heart to see how upset his friend was, and it gave him an inkling of how challenging it was for the Elf to handle such things.  If he were to allow himself to be with Thranduil, even if they had several decades of happiness, Bard would end up abandoning him, leaving him grieving, _again_.

  
No. No. He would never let that happen. This all must stop, and it must stop _now_. Bard did love him; he had to admit it to himself. But he loved Thranduil too much to cause him pain.  He was going to step back, stay friends with the Elvenking, and offer companionship, but no more. It might be enough. He'd  _make_ it be enough. There was so much to keep Bard busy with the rebuilding Dale, learning how to handle the paperwork, the disputes, and the endless minutiae of ruling as a King. Thranduil would still help him, and he would concentrate on his city, and his -

Something happened then.

For the rest of Bard’s life, he would avow the truth of what happened next.

He felt a hand on his chest, filling his heart with warmth. He would swear it, though it stunned and amazed him.

“Bard?” A voice said his name.

He looked up, and saw _her_ , there in front of him, with her light brown hair, and those amazing blue eyes, and the face that captured him and made him her prisoner the first time he saw it.  Without thinking, his arms reached out to her. He wanted to touch her, but she was thin, transparent, like mist; there was nothing to touch.

 He let out a sob. She looked lovingly at him, tilted her head and smiled. Mattie opened her mouth to speak, and heard her voice, like a whisper on the wind; her beautiful voice that could sing and wake the whole world up in the morning…

 _“Bard, my love?”_ she asked, in that same loving, no-nonsense way of hers, _“Would you have wanted me to stay away from you, if we’d known I wouldn’t be with you for long?”_

“Oh, my Mattie,” he sobbed, tears on his face, “My Mattie...” It was what he always called her. It was the only thing that would come out of his mouth. He had forgotten much about her over the years, and now it all came back to him. He had his wife back, even if it was like this, and he was afraid to say or do anything to ruin it.

 _“Should I have turned away, if we knew I would leave you?”_ She asked again. He simply sat, staring at her, afraid to answer, lest this vision, or whatever it was, ended. But she was demanding an answer from him, and he made himself think about it.

It wasn’t a tough choice, after all.

Bard stood up before the apparition of his Mattie, and stepped closer to her.  His voice trembled, as he whispered softly, “I would do it all again, a thousand times, if it meant I could be with you,”

He meant it. He couldn’t imagine a life without Mattie, or the children she gave him, and the moments of pure happiness he had had with her.

He understood what she was trying to tell him, but her next words filled his heart with hope,and made things all right.

_“It’s time, my love. Don't be afraid to love again, Bard. You were the best of husbands to me, and you’re good and kind to our children.  I’m glad I’ll always be in your heart, and you’ll always be in mine. But, now it’s time for you to go.”_

Then she gave him the same smile she used to give him in the mornings, before he went out on the lake. She would hand him his lunch, kiss him, then turn him around and give him a shove in the middle of his back…

…which he felt. He felt warmth of lips on his, that very same hand on his back, he knew so well...  Mattie smiled and said the words he heard each morning as he walked out the door.

_“Now, be off with you, my handsome man, and bring the world home for supper!"_

And she disappeared.

Bard sat back down and covered his mouth, as the tears fell.  Was that real, or did he imagine it?  Was he losing his mind?  

But he knew she had been there.  More important, Mattie was right. It _was_ time for him to go.

He shot up out of his chair and grabbed his coat. He went to the entrance and saw Tauriel in front of her quarters next door. “Tauriel, if you wouldn’t mind staying with the children, something has come up and I have to go. _Now.”_

“Of course, My Lord. I will watch over them as long as you need me to.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

“I…don’t know if I will be back tonight, so if you would please get them off tomorrow?” He was a bit sheepish.

“My Lord, I know it is not my place to say, but you need not worry if others notice or do not notice where you go, or what you do. If the children ask, I will tell them you were called away. I should to tell you; Sigrid has her suspicions, although she has never said anything to me.”

He let out a long breath. “Is it that obvious?”

She smiled at him. “Not to everyone, but I know the King more than most. I have not seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Pardon me for saying, but I see the same in you. Your oldest daughter is blessed with a keen eye, as well. But I do not think any others have bothered to think about it.”

He smiled back at her. “You certainly are pardoned. I consider you family, Tauriel, and I appreciate your thoughts and ideas. Don’t ever think you should hold back if you have something to say, all right? I suppose, since I am your King now, I should make that an official edict.”

“If you like. Either way, I will follow your instructions, as I am fond of your family.”

“Thank you.” Bard turned to go.

“My Lord?”

“Yes?”

She put her hand on his arm. “I wish you well. You both deserve to be happy.”

 

~o0o~

 

He had been alone for seven long years. He had carefully considered everything, and, now that he had made up his mind – or, rather, Mattie seemed to make it up for him – he couldn’t wait to start this part of his life. He wanted to run to Thranduil’s tent; to wherever he was. He would follow this path, until something or someone stopped him.

He had just been reminded that love was a precious thing, and, no matter what happened, he would never regret trying.

He had to find out.

When he finally saw Thranduil’s tent up ahead, he _did_ start running. He reached it, and ran in, not giving the guards time to open the flap for him.

Thranduil had been waiting for him.

 

***************

 

With a fullness of heart, Thranduil had managed to hold back his tears when little Tilda hugged him so tight. His heart swelled to know he had made her so happy. She was such an enchanting child; it was difficult not to prostrate himself before her little feet, in adoration.

Bard and his family had left his tent with their escorts, leaving it almost too quiet. He had enjoyed listening to them talk, and seeing their bright curiosity. They were intelligent children, and Bard, despite their former straights, had raised them well. Their questions were amusing, but well-intentioned especially little Tilda’s. Bard had been keeping him abreast of her recovery, but he was gratified to see it for himself.

When Legolas was small, he loved to hug his mother and father like Tilda; so tight. It used to make Mírelen laugh. No matter what trouble Legolas would get into - and he could get into _plenty_ – he would make up for it at night with those hugs. He probably did it because he knew it kept his parents from staying mad at him; he was a smart little _ellon_ , and wasn’t above using his cuteness to get his way.

When Tauriel was child, after they had finally found her in the kitchens when she had gone missing, Legolas was a wreck. He was already grown, so he had forgotten the times he had frightened the wits out of the Palace by hiding in places even Thranduil hadn’t known existed. As Thranduil carried a sleeping, jam-covered Tauriel back to their rooms, he told Galion perhaps Legolas was getting his comeuppance; the mischief he'd caused was more imaginative than anything Tauriel could come up with.

He wished Mírelen could have known the little red-haired _elleth_. She’d be the first to suggest moving her into the Royal Apartments, and would have insisted she'd be put into the nursery adjoining their bedroom, and love her like her own. She and Thranduil had always wanted another child. Having Legolas made their life so rich, they could only imagine how much more it could be if a little brother or sister could have joined them.

Bard’s words about going on after he lost his wife, Matilda, resonated with him. Especially when Bard said he would always love her, but how it gets easier to remember the good things, after a time. Maybe this was the case for himself, as well. Maybe Thranduil’s reluctance to face his loss head on, was because he was afraid this love would leave him altogether, and he'd be left even more bereft.

 _Oh, he missed Mírelen..._ He truly did. She was continuously in his heart, and his thoughts.

Yet, despite stubbornly avoiding it, his sense of love and loss had changed over time.

It was a mistake to remove all the reminders of her, he knew that now. It didn’t honor her memory by pretending she'd never been there. For all that she was to him, for all that she was to his people, she deserved to be forever honored as a good _elleth_ , wife, mother, and Queen.

 _“Goheno nin, Meleth nîn.”_ Thranduil whispered to Mírelen, hoping, somehow, she could hear him. He wanted her forgiveness for neglecting their past. It was wrong of him. He wondered if he'd hurt her, and felt his chest tighten at the thought. He'd no idea what awareness was possible, in the Halls of Mandos.   _If it is possible,_ he prayed to Mandos, Master of Spirits, _please let her know I never meant to hurt her._

When he returned home, he would rectify this. Her statue would be brought from the entrance to the wood, to be restored and placed inside the walls of the Kingdom. He would have her portraits hung up again. He would rescind his decree not to say her name. It was a beautiful name, _she_ was beautiful; it was time to start thinking of their memories as beautiful, too.

He had been in mourning for her longer than their marriage had even lasted. If he'd known this would happen, would he have still married her? Would he gave gone through with everything? Excluding Legolas, - who he couldn’t imagine not having - if he knew when he wed her, that he would suffer centuries of agony for it, would he do it?

He didn’t have to wonder long. The answer would be yes.

What they had, _what he_ _felt_ when he touched her hair, her face, and her body.  What he felt when they made love, when he climaxed inside of her, as she was pulsated all around him, with their _fëas_ joined, was a sensation that could never be described. What he felt when she sat beside him in the throne room, supporting his every decision, often making them together, or when he saw her across the table in the mornings when they broke their fast, and she looked sleepy and grumpy.  what he felt, when he saw her face holding their brand-new son, was worth it. It was _all_ worth it. He knew this in his heart now, and it somehow made it easier.

It was now time to move ahead with the life he had on Middle Earth. It was time to cherish her memory, and move on.  It had nothing to do Bard; he needed to move on for himself, and perhaps his brief dalliance with the new King of Dale's was meant  to help him do that.

But... he _had begun_ have real feelings for Bard, though he never expected to. Thranduil didn’t understand how it was possible, but there it was, and it was time to face it.

Something began when they started meeting in his tent, in the weeks before the Battle. Then, during their meetings after, it blossomed. Things felt so _right_ when he was around, and when he wasn’t, there was an increasing sense of his absence, of _something missing._

The night Bard spent here, when they were kissing in his bed, was the most physical contact he had had in countless years. His body was reacting after so long without. But, when he woke up wrapped in Bard’s arms, it was…he couldn’t come up with words, how it was. He wanted Bard’s body, and he wanted it _badly._ It had been weeks since he had helped Bard into his bath, and the memory of his muscular body, with hair that enthralled him, his powerful legs and his huge, thick cock, was the source of wanton fantasies that left him aching at night. He didn’t often take himself in hand, but he has done it more since being in Dale, than in years. It felt so good, thrusting into his hand, picturing Bard’s mouth around it, or pretending he was surrounded by moist heat, inside of Bard while he pounded into him, claiming him for his very own.

Thranduil wanted to bed him, yes, but he was surprised to realize he wanted _all of him._ He wanted Bard’s heart, his spirit, his intelligence, his natural leadership, his love for his children. He wanted all of Bard, because he _loved_ all of Bard.

He hadn't known it for certain, until he’d looked over Tilda’s shoulder and met Bard’s eyes that were looking back at him with something made his heart leap. In that moment, Thranduil realized, he was deeply in love Bard, Heir of Girion, King of Dale.

Thranduil was scared to death. This should feel wonderful, but it didn’t. This was _dangerous_. How could he let this happen?

 

***************

 

“My Lord?”

Galion entered Thranduil’s, tent to find him sitting on his cushioned throne, and staring off into space. Galion was surprised to see him so sober and pensive, after the merriment earlier this evening.

“Yes, Galion, what is it?”

“There is nothing, Sire. I simply wanted to ask if you were all right. If I may, you seem rather lost in thought, and I was afraid there might be something amiss.”

Still not looking at his Chief Aide, Thranduil spoke, “It was a successful dinner with Bard’s family, was it not?”

“Yes, it was, My Lord. For my part, I enjoyed it very much. They are good children.”

Thranduil turned his head and smiled up at Galion, “Your surprise for little Tilda was a success, and a thoughtful touch. Thank you.”

Galion grinned. “That it was. I shall relay your compliments, as well as the children’s enthusiasm, to the Guild. They did a fine job.”

“Speaking of the Tailor’s Guild, if they would be willing to make some more toys for the children over and above their own duties, I will see they are well-paid. I think it will help the young ones, as I see how much comfort Tilda finds in her doll. Let us particularly make sure the orphans have as much as they can.”

“I will send a message to them tomorrow, to start right away.” Galion gave a conspiratorial grin. “I wonder if they are not already doing this, though. Tauriel tells me the Dwarf Bofur has expressed a wish to also present them with toys. I find it hard to believe our Elves will allow themselves to be outdone; it would be a matter of pride.”

Thranduil gave a little laugh. The idea of the Dwarves and the Elves competing over how much they could give to those children amused him, and would only bring joy to the little ones. “I would not be surprised, but I think it would be good for them to have compensation for so much work. Their time has already been taxed, making clothing for the refugees. They are coping well.”

“I will also send your sentiments regarding this, if I may. They have been working hard, and they will appreciate it.”

“I still have not broached the subject with Lord Bard about the welfare of the orphans, but I plan to soon. I have sent orders to the Palace to have guard rails put up on the walkways, in the event there will human children coming. I’m going to suggest they come and winter in the Palace. At the least, the Prince and Princesses of Dale will be visiting the Palace, now, and I will not compromise their safety.” Thranduil told him.

“Excellent notion, Sire. Even the adults of the race of Men lack the balance of Elves, so it will protect them as well.” Galion had not thought of this, but he was glad to see his King had. The idea of visitors and children wandering the Halls pleased and excited him.

After a moment or two, Thranduil seemed to have decided something, and gestured to the other armchair.

“Please sit, Galion. I would like to speak with you.”

“Of course.” Galion sat, waiting expectantly. “Is there something on your mind?”

Thranduil crossed his legs, and stared off into space again.

“I was thinking of how much I miss my wife.”

The Chief Aide was taken aback. It had been a long, long time since they spoke of her. “I miss her as well,” he said quietly.

“I know you do. We all do. She was… She was perfect for me and Legolas, and she was perfect for all the Realm. There will never be another like her.”

“I am glad to know you are thinking about her, Thranduil. I want to say, if I may, I am glad you are speaking of her as well, even if it’s only a little.”

“I think of her all the time, though I have tried not to.” As he looked off, his eyes blurred. “I did not think I would ever get past losing her…” He sniffed, swallowed, and ran his hand over his face. “Did you know Bard also lost his wife?”

“I had heard something to that effect. Childbirth, am I correct? I have heard this can happen with their race.”

“Little Tilda never knew her mother.”

“It is sad to think about.” Galion wasn’t sure what the right thing to say, but he didn’t want his King to stop speaking about this.

“I…” A heavy sigh. “I do not understand how… I still miss Mírelen, but now I feel…”

After a moment, Galion said, “Yes?”

“I think…  _I know_ I have developed feelings for Lord Bard, and I do not know if it is right.”

He said it. It was out, and this encouraged Thranduil’s Aide. “Can you tell me why you think this way?”

“I have already loved once, and I loved her with all my heart. Our _fëas_ were joined. I did not think it could happen again.”

“It is extremely unusual, Thranduil, but it _has_ happened. Finwë, if you recall, had two wives.”

All Elves knew the story of Fëanor, and the Silmarils, but it wasn’t often recalled his father had been married twice: His first wife had been Míriel Serindë, mother of Fëanor, and after her death, he had married Indis, mother of his four other children. Thranduil’s cousin’s wife, Galadriel, was descended from that second union.

Thranduil gave a sarcastic laugh. “That story ended well, did it not?"

“No, it did not. Disastrous, in fact. But you must consider that it was a different Age, and it was not on Middle Earth. I believe these are crucial differences. Plus, this is the only second marriage _we know of_ in Elven Lore, but that does not mean there might not be other Elves who have married twice. If they do no great deeds, their lives do not tend to be recorded.”

The King considered this. “This is an excellent point.”

“May I speak freely, Thranduil?”

“Yes, I would like you to.”

“I noticed you and King Bard have become good friends. I have wondered if this was going to be something more, which seems to be, from what I can see of you two looking at each other.  I was surprised at first, but not in the way you might believe.  I, too wondered how this could be, as you were joined with Queen Mírelen, but I did not ponder this much.  I have seen what your time with Lord Bard has done for you.  The answer as to how you _can_ care for him, is beyond my ability to know or to decide.  I am simply pleased to see some happiness return to you.

“I also do not think, because Bard belongs to the race of Men, he should be beneath your notice. The King of Dale embodies the best qualities of his race, and many others.  He is honest, hardworking, has a desire for wisdom, and a deep love for his family and his people.  Further, he would never hesitate to protect them; even at the cost of his own life.  He is most worthy of you, My King.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to protest the formality, but Galion urged patience, “I use your title with you now, My Lord, because I want you to understand: I believe he is worthy as Consort to the King of the Woodland Realm, not merely to Thranduil, the Elf.”

Thranduil gave a wry laugh. “I do not think the Council would share your sentiments. They will certainly want to have a say in this, because my decision to join with someone of the race of Men could jeopardize the Woodland Realm.

Galion then remembered what might happen if Thranduil and Bard bonded. “Oh, Valar…”

“Yes. I have a kingdom to consider, and my responsibility to them. If I join with Bard, I could become Mortal, and who would be there for my people? Even if Bard was willing, my Kingdom must be my first priority, Galion.”

Galion put his hand to his mouth, in consternation.  "Oh, Stars..."

Thranduil looked at him, eyes full of hurt. “I have not been with _anyone_ since Mirelen was killed. I have not even thought of it!” He got up and started pacing, becoming agitated, “I have done my best to run my life, run my Kingdom to benefit my people. I even was willing to die for it when -“ Thranduil couldn’t speak of the Dragon. _“ I have done everything_ I believed the Valar wished me to, and what is my reward? My father was taken from me, and I carried on. My mother left me, and I carried on. My wife was taken from me, and I struggled not to fade. I carried on, half of what I once was, for my Kingdom!”  He was angry, now.  “And, because I did not fade, I barely functioned as an Elf and I ruined my relationship with my son! For my kingdom!” he roared in frustration.

“Then this Man, this _human_ is suddenly here before me, and I cannot stop how I feel! _I love him, a_ _nd I cannot not have him!”_ His voice broke, and he stood still, looking up at the ceiling, and swallowed. “And worst of all, Galion, Bard will be here for decades; barely out of reach for me! I will have to endure his presence, knowing I turned away a chance at love, and when he dies I will mourn for him as if he was my mate anyway! FOR MY KINGDOM! _What am I supposed to do!”_

He gave a loud growl, and went to the small table by his throne and swept it free of its contents, sending papers and his empty cup flying. Then he leaned over it, grabbing the edge with both hands, panting slightly.

Galion listened with sympathy.  His King was finally beginnning to come alive inside, to feel things deeply, and it might be that he will have to face yet more tragedy.  It was hard to believe the Valar could wished this for Thranduil!  Galion found it difficult not to be angry on his King's behalf.

Thranduil calmed himself, and wearily sat down. “I am sorry I shouted.  I am tired of looking to the Valar for guidance, and being rewarded by grief.”  He wiped his eyes, then rubbed his forehead.  “Galion, I know how I feel.  I know for me, it is too late; I am already in love with Bard.”  Thranduil closed his eyes and whispered, “My heart made this choice, and I had no say in it. I think I have known this for some time, but I was afraid to face it.”  Then he looked at Galion with weary eyes, and asked him, “Why would they be so cruel?  I do not understand why this happened, unless it was only to dangle this in front of me, knowing I could never grasp it? Why?”

Galion’s eyes blurred. He was right. It was a cruel situation. Bard was so good for his King; he was learning how to be happy again, after centuries of loneliness and pain.  Thranduil had had enough of heartache, and sacrifice, and pain.  Enough.  He loved this Elf as a son, and he watched for all his King’s life how hard he worked to please his parents, his people, his wife, his Kingdom, and the Valar.  It was unfair, to know he would once again be facing loss.  

They sat in silence for several minutes, as Galion tried to wrap his mind around this.

Somehow, he _knew_ there were some pieces missing; there _had_ to be more to consider, in this!  He didn’t know what it could be, but he sensed there was _something_ that could be done.

“If I may, Thranduil, I cannot be convinced all is lost. I do understand why you question all of this, and it truly does seem pitiless, but I suspect this is not what is intended for you. There has got to be a way to answer these questions.”

Thranduil, frustrated, angry and hopeless, answered with sarcasm, “Oh? And who do you think could possibly help me?”

“I have an idea of someone…”

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

  
Goheno nin, Meleth nîn – Forgive me, my love


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil finally decide what they want, but how can all this work, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy Chapter 13, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> There's a cute story by [A_mug_of_tea_is_all_I_need](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_mug_of_tea_is_all_I_need/pseuds/A_mug_of_tea_is_all_I_need), called [How Bard rescues the (not) Damsel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7612741); check it out! 
> 
> If you have a particular fondness for Barduil Coffee Shop AU's, here are a couple: [There's you in ething I do](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3392522) by [barddragonslayer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barddragonslayer/pseuds/barddragonslayer), and a cute story called [When Bard Meets Thranduil,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5041705) by the talented [TheMirkyKing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMirkyKing/pseuds/TheMirkyKing).

 

 

 

 

“Bard! Come in, come in! We’ve been expecting you!”

_Bloody fuck… Shit!_

This was not at all what Bard pictured before he rushed in to Thranduil’s tent. Not in his wildest imagination could he have foreseen this - and during the last couple of minutes, he was imagining _quite a lot._

And why was he “expected?” No one knew he was coming; he didn’t know himself until ten minutes ago…

“Gandalf! What in Mordor are you doing here?” It was out before Bard even finished the thought, and he winced. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“That’s quite all right. Now, if you could take a seat, we’ve got something important to talk about, don’t we?”

“Uh…is something wrong? Has something happened?” Bard took a chair at the table, worried. “Thranduil?” He turned to the Elf, who was looking bemused. “What is it?”

Gandalf spoke up before Thranduil had time to reply. “No, let me assure you, nothing is amiss. At least, not right at this moment. Now, I, for one would like some of that great Dorwinian, wouldn’t you? Thranduil, Bard looks like he could use a stiff drink, and it looks looks like you could, too. In fact, just bring the whole bottle; we might need it.”

 _Oh, Valar…_ “There is something wrong isn’t there!” Bard’s stomach started to flip.

“Again, let me assure you…”

“Gandalf! You’re scaring me.” He looked to the Elf. “Thranduil, say something! What the bloody fuck is going on here?” He would have never sworn at a Wizard, except he was a bit, well... _horny._

Thranduil finally piped up, “It seems before I had a chance to send for Mithrandir, he showed up, knowing I sought his counsel.”

“Counsel? For what?” He turned to Gandalf, “How did you know I would come?”

“Because I was told you would. Now, please sit down. Here’s your drink -“

“Who told you I would? I don’t understand!"  he took the cup from Gandalf, and took a long pull from it.

“Now just let me remove my hat and get comfortable.” Gandalf got up, set it on the small table over beside Thranduil’s throne, then he returned to his seat and took a long drink from his cup. “Thranduil, this is an excellent vintage. You have my compliments.”

Bard narrowed his eyes, wondering what the Gandalf would do, if he dumped his drink on the Wizard’s head.

“For Valar's sake, Gandalf..."

 “It’s funny you should mention that…”

They both paused, looking at each other, then turned to Gandalf.

“The Valar?” Thranduil asked, even more confused.

“You mean... the _Valar_ Valar?” Bard asked.

“Yes.” Gandalf said.

“And I’m _not_ supposed to be frightened out of my wits?”

“That is true.”

Bard looked back at Thranduil, who shrugged. Getting answers out of a Wizard was apparently just as hard as trying to getting one from an Elf.

At this point, Bard was wondering what Gandalf would do, if he _punched_ him.

Mercifully Thranduil help him avoid violence, by saying, “I know you are enjoying yourself, Mithrandir, but I can assure you, Bard and I are not. Now please explain why you came here, unannounced -“

“But I didn’t come unannounced.  You sent Galion to come and get me.”

“And you met him at the entrance of my tent, saying I was expecting you. Now please -“

“You see? I wasn’t unannounced, was I?”

 _“GANDALF!”_ Bard roared.

“All right, all right.” Gandalf raised his hands. “I’m sorry.  Just having a bit of fun with you.  I've got a difficult and exhausting job, and it isn’t often I have good news; I wanted to enjoy it for a bit.”

That statement was met with wide-eyed stares.

“You have good news?" Bard wanted to be certain. "This is _good_ news?” 

“Yes, for both you and Thranduil, if this is something you both want.”

Complete and utter silence. Neither of them could move.

“How…I mean, we haven’t even…”

“As I was trying to tell you, the Valar has gotten involved in your situation, and they have asked me to come to render their decision. What you both decide to do with it, is up to you. I cannot counsel you on this, so both must carefully consider what they have laid before you.”

He turned to Bard.  “First, I must start with you, Bard, Son of Brand, Heir of Girion, King of Dale, Dragonslayer -”

“Please don’t call me that. Please.”

“You don’t want to be called King of Dale?” Gandalf teased, again. At Bard’s murderous look, he said, “Sorry. I’m finished with the mirth, I promise. I’ll be serious.

“In fact, what we are about to discuss is _quite_ serious, Bard, because you are, in fact, a Dragonslayer. You are one of a very few who accomplished this in all the Ages of Middle Earth. These fell creatures had been made by Morgoth, out of fire and sorcery during the First Age. I know the name of everyone who has caused their death. They are all enjoying their reward from the Valar for these great deeds.

“To kill such a powerful, magical creature can only be done with the purest of intentions toward others, not oneself. Your ancestor, Girion, also had such a heart, and because of this, he was able to break off a scale; one more shot, and he would indeed have killed Smaug, but he was killed himself, before he could accomplish this. Girion's efforts count for much, with the Valar. He too, has been rewarded, where he is now. What this is, I cannot say, but you must trust me.”

“I know when you killed Smaug, you didn’t expect to live through it. You were willing, without hesitation, to go up against such a frightening creature to save your children, were you not?”

“Well, yes, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t frightened out of my mind.” Bard looked at Gandalf with confusion. He looked over at Thranduil, who seemed moved by what the Wizard was saying, but he looked nervous, too.

“That does not matter. Bard!  Do you think anyone would have blamed you if you, too, had run from such terror? Be honest. The others ran. You did not.”

“I suppose not, but I had to try, at least.  If I could stall for time, my family could get out.”

“Yes! And you _did_ try! Do you understand? It didn’t matter that you were frightened. It didn’t matter that you went up on the bell tower knowing you had little chance of success, or even living through it! What mattered was, you did it. You faced a creation of Melkor, just as Girion did.”

“What about Bain? He was with me too, and he’s as responsible as I am for Smaug’s death. He was the one who brought me the Black Arrow in the first place.”

“I agree. And I will discuss this with you, but after I am finished.” Gandalf finished his drink, and held it out to Thranduil for more.

Thranduil filled their cups, then he and Bard waited for the Wizard to continue.

“Before I continue, Bard, I need to tell you something that I doubt Thranduil has mentioned.”

The Elvenking, gave Gandalf a warning look, and shook his head.  “Mithrandir, do not -”

“I’m sorry, but I must. He must understand fully, and so must you.”

Bard was confused, and apprehensive. “Thranduil? What is it?”

“Bard,” Gandalf told him, “You’re not the only one sitting at this table who has slain a Dragon.”

_What?_

Bard just kept staring at him, open-mouthed.

Thranduil looked at Gandalf beseechingly. “I…please do not…”

“I understand, my friend. But he must know everything. And although I’ve never said it, you have my sympathies.”

“Your what?!” Bard turned to Thranduil, “His what? Why does he sympathize, Thranduil? What is he talking about?”

“I am sorry. I cannot speak of this…please.” Thranduil ducked his head, and covered his eyes.

Gandalf looked upon Thranduil with compassion.  “Perhaps we could have a witness tell the story?”

Thranduil gave Gandalf a long, intense stare, then silently acceded to the request.

“Bard, would you please ask the guard to send for Galion?” Gandalf said, quietly.

A few minutes later, Galion arrived. The Wizard had him join them at the table and gave him a drink. He also refilled Thranduil’s, and kept the bottle close, ready to refill it again. The Elvenking stared down at his lap, unable to speak.

“Galion, I have been granted permission by your King, to request you speak of the events during the War of the Last Alliance, and of what your King sacrificed, in order to save your Army, and the Woodland Realm.”

Bard was astonished by what the Wizard just said, and Galion was visibly shaken.

The Chief Aide, looked to his King anxiously, as Thranduil closed his eyes, and gave him the smallest of nods.

“My Lord, are you sure?”

“Yes.” Said the Elvenking in a whisper.

After taking a deep breath, Galion recounted the events and details of the Dragon attack on their army. How Thranduil ran up ahead of them, his high, high leap and tucked somersault before he plunged his swords into the belly of the beast, eviscerating it.

He told them how Feren tried to stop him, once he knew what his King had planned, willing to go in his place, and how it took four other Elves to thwart him. Galion also told them what Feren never knew: Thranduil had ordered those men beforehand to, at his signal, grab his Commander and stop him, even if it meant their lives.  Galion spoke with a clear and even voice, never wavering, but tears were on his face.

Bard sat still, looking intently at Thranduil, his eyes not leaving his face as his Chief Aide told him of the bravest, most unselfish act he had ever heard of.  His throat became tight and painful, and his eyes were stinging. He knew the Elvenking was practically untouchable in battle, and what he saw of him in combat was astonishing, but _this…_

“I had no idea.” He said, in amazement. “That’s why they call you the Greatest Warrior on Middle Earth.”

Thranduil looked at him for a moment, then lowered his gaze. This confused Bard. He looked nervous, and… _ashamed?_

“There’s something else, isn’t there? He looked to Galion, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, then he looked at Gandalf, who was giving Thranduil a sympathetic look. The Elvenking sighed, but still couldn’t seem to raise his gaze.

“Thranduil? Did something happen? What is it?”

“My Lord? Shall I go on? Or would you prefer to continue?”

“Please, Galion, I need you finish. I don’t remember a great most of it, in any case. But Mithrandir is correct. If Bard is to be…” Thranduil sighed and resolved himself. “I want Bard to know all of it.”

Gandalf seemed pleased, and gave the Elvenking an encouraging smile, saying, “Please go on, Galion.”

“My Lord Bard, as you know, Dragonfire is especially dangerous. We were fortunate to have Elrond Peredhil with the Alliance, because he is the greatest Healer in all of Middle Earth and there was no one else who could have saved my King, when he killed the Dragon.”

“Elrond? The books you gave Sigrid were written by him, right?”

Thranduil nodded.

Bard thought for a moment. Then he remembered something he had seen with Smaug: how his belly would glow, just before...  "Oh, shit... the dragon was about to strike when you killed it, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Galion said.

“And you were right underneath it when you sliced into...  What happened?” He knew Galion would answer, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the Thranduil’s face.

“He was hit directly by the fire. Luckily, my King stabbed him before its heat had a real chance to build. Even so, he was very badly burned, and was unrecognizable.”

“But you told us, at dinner, your Mithril armor was impenetrable.”

“It is, My Lord. It remained unharmed, which added to the list of Mithril’s virtues after that day.  This gift from his father, protected him and his organs enough to save his life. Elrond used all his powers, to aid in my King’s healing. It took a very long time.”  Galion described the months he spent in his healing sleep, and the care, which Elrond and Galion provided, and the devotion of his fighters to protect and keep their King, _their savior_ , safe.

Bard's throat tightened, and his breath caught, as he swallowed. This could have happened to him, or worse, _Bain!_  He couldn’t begin to think what it was like to be so…he couldn’t form the words in his mind. Thranduil was still looking away, his eyes tightly closed.

“I’m so sorry.” Bard's voice rasped. “I don’t know what to say.” He then turned to Galion and thanked him, but the Aide still looked miserable.

“What else, Galion? Tell me.”

“Elrond was able to heal My Lord Thranduil’s burns completely, but there is not a cure on Middle Earth found that can heal the wounds from Dragon's blood.” This time, the Aide’s voice did tremble and break.

“I don’t understand…” Bard put his hand to his mouth.

Gandalf told the Elvenking, gently, “My friend, I am sorry, but he has a right to know. You must show him.”

Thranduil looked at the Galion, terrified.

“My King, you must trust Lord Bard.”

Thranduil looked at Bard, trying to keep his composure. The Elf was afraid. Of what?

“Thranduil, I promise you. _I promise you,_ no matter what it is, it will not change my feelings for you.”

It was the first time Bard acknowledged what he felt in front of others, but he could think of no better time to tell this Elvenking what was in his heart.

“Please." He told the Elvenking, gently. "It will be all right. I’m not going anywhere.”

Thranduil, still apprehensive, closed his eyes in intense concentration. One side of his face started to change colors and shape, and soon, Bard was looking at the true face of the Woodland King, who was looking back at him out of his good eye, begging him, silently, not to turn away in disgust, not to reject him.

_That was something Bard would never, ever do._

He spoke to the Elf in a soft voice, wanting to reassure him. “It’s all right, Thranduil. I understand. There’s nothing anyone can do, then?” Galion shook his head. “Does that still cause you pain? It looks agonizing.” This time, he wanted an answer from the Elf himself, insisting he give it.

“Yes.”

“Does this pain stay with you all the time? Or does…this cover… I don’t know what you call it…”

“It’s called a ‘glamour,’ My Lord, and Lord Elrond trained Thranduil in this skill, as a part of his recovery.” Galion said. “It keeps the wound protected from the elements and it dulls the pain. It hardly hurts when it is up.”

“Then, I’d like you to please put it back. I don’t care how you look, but I don’t like the idea of you suffering, all right?” he waited while Thranduil’s face returned to normal, and he could see the relief it in. _Valar, that must be agonizing…_

Bard got up, walked around Gandalf to where Thranduil was sitting, took his face in his hands and smiled. There could be no better time to say this out loud as well.

He looked into the sea of those blue-grey eyes, and he said softly, “Remember when I told you all the things I saw in you that were beautiful?  All those things are still there, aren’t they?  They haven’t changed and neither have you.  You aren’t beautiful because of what you look like, Thranduil.  You’re beautiful to me, because I love you.”

And with that, right in front of the Wizard, and the Aide - who were both grinning from ear to ear - Bard, King of Dale, Dragonslayer, kissed Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, who also happened to be a Dragonslayer.

 

Thranduil and Bard were still reveling in their kiss, looking at each other, and forgetting they weren't the only ones in the room.

“I’m happy for you both, my friends; you have my heartiest congratulations!” Gandalf clasped his hands together and grinned.

Thranduil, with his forehead resting against his Bowman’s, eyes closed, said, “Thank you, Mithrandir.”

Bard smirked, eyes still on his Elf, said, “Is Gandalf still here?”

“If we could get back to the reason for my visit, I believe I can add quite a bit of insight as to what brought you two together. You will be pleased to know you’ve had some help.”

“Help? Bard said.

“Help?” Thranduil asked.

“Thranduil, I’m sure you’re especially curious as to how this could even have come to pass.” Gandalf turned to Galion, and thanked him, and the Chief Aide left the tent.

“You are correct. I am. This was not supposed to happen.”

Bard gave Thranduil a look.  “Thanks a lot.”

“I am sorry. I do not mean it like that. If you knew what is normal for Elves, you would understand, and Mithrandir seems to have an explanation why.” Thranduil kissed Bard again, and motioned for him to sit down.

Bard moved his chair closer his Elf, and took his hand. Together, they looked at the Wizard, expectantly.

“I don’t understand. Why would Thranduil think this was unusual? People who are widowed go on to other marriages all the time, where I come from. Is it because we’re both men?”

“No, not at all. In fact, Thranduil would be the first one to tell you, this type of thing is not an issue amongst Elves.  And, as to your earlier apprehensions about this kind of thing between Kings, Bard, I don’t foresee any problems.”

“How did you…” Bard was shocked Gandalf knew all this. He turned to Thranduil. “Well, we’re both Kings, and I had to consider how this would affect my people. Your people, too. I thought about a lot of things. Then, I… _had_ to see you...” He smiled at the Elf. “But how did you know all this, Gandalf?”

“The same way I knew you were coming here.”

“But…”

Gandalf smiled. “I am a Wizard, after all.”

“That’s right. Sorry. I don't have a large frame of reference for this type of thing.”

Gandalf laughed. “I forgive you. Now, back to what we need to discuss: We’ve established that your genders, or a relationship with another King, will not be an issue. Any ridiculous prejudice you might come up against, will not be something you can’t easily handle. So, don’t let it stop you. You might be comforted to know Thranduil, here, has also been weighing every side of this issue. It does you both credit, to put your concerns of your people first, but you needn’t worry. In fact, I have been sent to address the concerns you both have but first, we need to talk about the difference inherent to both of your races. Bard, I don’t think you are familiar with Elven mating practices, am I correct?”

Bard nodded. “I know nothing about it. I assumed two Elves meet, fall in love and marry, just like we do.”

“In this way, your races are alike. But there are some things unique to Elves, and it’s not necessarily a matter of culture between the types of Elves on Middle Earth, either. You see, Elves almost never fall in love twice. Their marital traditions are not based on choice, but what happens physically when they marry.”

Bard raised his eyebrows and looked between Gandalf and Thranduil, eyes wide in alarm.

“You mean Elves don’t… You don’t…”   _Oh,Bloody fuck!_   His face fell, and he put his head in his hand in disappointment.  He had been _really looking forward to..._

Despite his best efforts not to, Thranduil laughed.  “Bard, you need not worry. Elves are quite proficient at this type of thing.”

Bard sat back in his chair, examining the Thranduil’s face. “Are you _sure_ you mean the same thing I mean?”

“Oh, yes. I believe you will be very satisfied.”

Bard let out the breath he was holding. “Thank the stars… For a minute there, I thought you didn’t...”

Gandalf cleared his throat. “I beg of you to discuss all this later, when I'm no longer in the room.

Bard ignored him, needing to be sure. “So, what is this huge difference, if it isn’t… _that?”_ Bard normally would be reticent about discussing sex with a Wizard, but when you haven’t had any for _seven long years…_

“Thranduil, would you please explain to Bard how love and marriage affects an Elven couple? I think he might understand better, don’t you think?”

“It might, and it might not, Mithrandir, but you are correct. He must know.”  Thranduil looked at Bard and took a deep breath. “When an Elf falls in love, it is almost always only once, if they do at all.  They _cannot_ fall in love more than once.  The reason for this is, when an Elf physically joins with another Elf, their spirits -their _fëas,_ as we call them - also physically join to be as one, and this bond is permanent.  Elves do marry, as you know, but we consider the act of consummation itself to be the actual marriage, not the ceremony.  Some Elves do not bother with a celebration, others have a feast, before the marriage takes place.”

Bard wanted to be absolutely sure.  "So...Elves _do, ‘_ do it?’”

Thranduil smiled, "Yes, we do, and extremely well, if I may say so."

Bard thought about it some more. “Well, that bond would take care of the problem of a wife or husband getting caught cheating. It sounds like a better way to go about it, if you ask me.”

Thranduil smiled sadly. “I can see why you would think this.  And in many ways, it _is_ better, but there is also a price.  The bond is almost never broken.  It is particularly tragic when an Elf is killed.  If he or she is dead, their _fëas_ are still joined.  There is no choice in the matter.  Often, when an Elf’s mate dies, the grief causes the one left behind to fade.  This is why I am protective of the lives of my people.  When I lose one in battle, I could lose a husband or wife at home.  They may either fade, or sail to the Undying Lands to heal their grief.  When my own father was killed in the War, my mother did her best to stay until I returned to the Woodland Realm, but soon after, she had to leave; she had little choice.”

Bard was staring down at his drink, trying to digest this information. Then he asked, “Your wife…how did you not fade, yourself, after she died?  You’ve never said what happened to her.  In fact, I don’t even know her name.”

“This is because I have not spoken it for almost a thousand years - until earlier this evening.” Thranduil swallowed. “I promised her, if something were to ever happen, I would do my best not to, for our son’s sake, and for my Kingdom’s sake. I remained on Middle Earth, but it was…unspeakably difficult."

“I don’t understand, then.  What are you telling me?” Bard looked at the Elf with increasing alarm.  Thranduil was telling him he couldn’t possibly be in love with him, if he still was "joined" with his wife!  He felt foolish, embarrassed, and heartbroken.  “Thranduil, if you are…I mean, if you’re still ‘attached’ to your wife, you can't love, me, too!  Look, I love you, but I need to be in this _all the way,_ and if you can't feel the same…”

Bard let go of Thranduil’s hand, before he could stop him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this if I know you’re still… _with_ her.  I still love my wife, and I always will, but if you’re still ‘joined’ with yours like this, I don’t think I can do this.”  Thranduil reached for his hand again, but he pulled it back, upset and hurt.  “I’m sorry, but I just can’t!”

Gandalf put his hand on Bard’s arm, and said, “Peace, Bard. Please calm yourself. I understand your fear, but I think, if you really look at Thranduil, you’ll find he feels the same way about you. He does, doesn’t he? Look at him, please!”

Bard slowly calmed down, and Thranduil took his hand, held its palm to his lips and kissed it. _“Gi melin, Bard. Annon veleth nîn anden.”_

Moved, Bard asked, “What does that mean?”

Gandalf smiled. “It means you don’t have to worry about how Thranduil feels about you.” Then he cleared his throat. “As I said, the reason I sought you both out, is that I have been authorized to tell you, the Valar has rewarded each of you for ridding Middle Earth of a creature of Morgoth.  Thranduil, the reason you have been able to fall in love with Bard, is because your bond with Mírelen has been severed, with her blessing. In fact, she petitioned the Valar for this, herself.”

The Elvenking stared at him, not believing his words. “ _She_ did this? I thought she was still waiting in the Mandos’ Halls! You mean, she’s in Valinor now?”

“Apparently so. She didn’t want you to be alone, and, as soon as she was able, she demanded you be freed, so you could love again. She reminded them how you slayed the Dragon at the Gates of Mordor, and that you were entitled to special dispensation.”

Thranduil sat for a few minutes, allowing this news to sink in, and become real. To hear of Mirelen, to even think of her as more than an abstract memory, was disconcerting. She seemed more real in this moment, as she was before she died. In a way, it was losing her all over again, and he needed several moments to come to terms with it. He closed his eyes, recalling his beautiful, loving wife, and couldn’t help his bittersweet sigh.

“My friend, she wants this for you, please believe me. This is her gift to you.” Gandalf assured him.

He heard the Wizard’s words, his throat clenching, eyes stinging. It didn’t surprise him that she would pound at the door of Manwë’s Palace, if she needed to, to help him. His vision swam with tears as smiled at the memory of her passion and stubbornness. “Yes, Mithrandir, I believe you. It is exactly something she would do, would she not?” He laughed a little. “She was headstrong and determined, when she wanted something.  I loved this about her."

"So did I, my good friend.  And her love for you is how I came to be here.  She could hardly bear to learn of your years of loneliness and suffering, and demanded that you be granted a chance at happiness.  You are too important to Middle Earth, to spent all your days bereft, like you have been.  Would you not want the same for her?"

It was a precious gift she had given to him, and it had nothing to do with Bard, or anyone else. Even if he remained alone in his life on Middle Earth, to just _think of her_ without it piercing his heart, was the biggest blessing he could have hoped for. She’d arranged it so he didn’t need to run from her memory.

But she’d done so much more. She was making it so he could have new ones. _Mírelen, Meleth nîn... Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn…_ Thranduil held his fingers to his lips, with a smile.  His vision swam, as his eyes filled, with happiness, how many years had it been since he had cried with joy?

Bard reached over and poured him some more wine, and encouraged him to drink it. He drank the entire cup, and held it out to him for more.

“I wish I could’ve met Mírelen." Bard said. "She sounds like a wonderful woman, Thranduil.”

“She was. She is.” Thranduil smiled through his tears. “But it is all right. We had a wonderful life together, and I will tell you more about her someday. I would like to know more about your Matilda, as well.”   He kissed the palm of Bard's hand. "Today, however, belongs to you and me.” 

Gandalf cleared his throat again, and said, “Thranduil, it might surprise you to know that Bard has had word from his wife as well.”

Thranduil looked quickly to Bard, who went pale.

“You did, didn’t you?” The Wizard coaxed Bard, who nodded slowly. “Just as Thranduil was awarded the gift from his wife, yours was permitted to give you one as well. I don’t mind telling you, that was _impressive!_ Permission for this had to have come from Eru himself. He is the only one who knows where Men go after death. Not even the Valar know where they are, or how this was accomplished. To my knowledge, Bard, it’s the only time this has ever happened.”

The Elvenking gasped, still looking at Bard, and squeezed his hand. “Can you tell me what she said?” he asked gently.

“I will, but not right now. It’s too…”

“I think Bard will need a little more time. Suffice it to say, my friend, she has given her blessing as well, hasn’t she?”

Bard nodded. “She did. I thought I was imagining it at first, but... It was her, I swear it was my Mattie. I couldn’t believe it. I’m not sure I believe it even now. It was just so…”

Gandalf spoke gently, “Let me assure you Bard, this genuinely occurred and it is an honor known to no one else. You have truly been blessed.”

The idea that Eru Ilúvatar himself had intervened, astounded both Bard and Thranduil.

“Now, this brings me to the most important part of my visit, if you will, and I want you both to think carefully of what this reward is, and how you two choose to use it. I think we’ve established you two are in love with each other, am I correct?

Looking at each other, they smiled and said they were.

“Wonderful! Now it is time to educate Bard on the consequences of an Elf-Mortal pairing. This can get a bit complicated, so don’t be alarmed at what you hear,” the Wizard reminded him.

“King Elu Thingol, and his wife, Melian, who was a Maia, same as myself, had a daughter called Luthien. She married a human named Beren and became Mortal. Their actual story is much more complicated, but that’s the gist of it.”

“So, Luthien gave up her Immortal life?” Bard was dismayed. “Is that the only way?”

Gandalf was eager to reassure them both. “Fear not, Bard; I’m not quite finished. Normally, we believe that when an Elf joins with a Mortal, he or she becomes Mortal as well, but there are exceptions. When Idril wed Tuor Eladar, who was human, she remained an Elf, and the Ban of the Valar was lifted for Tuor, and they sailed to Valinor. They are living quite happily there together. In fact, I visited them rather often, before I was sent here. To date, Tuor has been the only Man granted permission to do this. Until now.”

The Wizard gestured to them both. “If you would be so kind as to stand before me… Yes, yes…that will do nicely.”

Gandalf then stood up, and turned to face them, looking at them both intensely. He seemed to change before them; he was taller, brighter, and there shone from him a countenance that belied his normal features as an elderly man in rags. He then spoke with a clear voice, that sounded like Gandalf, but _more,_ somehow:

“Thranduil, son of Oropher, and Bard, son of Brand, you both have been granted the choice of when, where and how you are to meet your final fates when your lives are finished here on Middle Earth. If you choose to join with each other, your spirits will be joined as well, and, should you both choose the Mortal life, then you shall be together, after your deaths, with the race of Men. If you choose Immortality, then you may go to Valinor together to live in the Undying Lands. This is the gift Eru Ilúvatar and the Valar have given you. They see the love that has grown between you, and, as slayers of Morgoth’s fell creatures, with their blessing and the blessing of your late wives, grant this choice to you.”

As Gandalf finished stating the Valar’s decree, Bard, Son of Brand, Heir of Girion, King of Dale, and Dragonslayer…

…fainted dead away.

 

ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:

Gi melin, Bard. – I love you, Bard.  
Annon veleth nîn anden – I give you my heart.  
Mírelen, Meleth nîn... Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn… - Mírelen, My love… I shall treasure your gift in my heart…

NOTES:

\- Thanks again to this website for help with Sindarin: https://realelvish.net/phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard finish their discussion with Gandalf, decide their fate, and begin to plan their new life together. Then they celebrate, in a very private way. For those of you who have been waiting--this is why I have an explicit rating on this fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, I want to mention a nice story called [To Have to Learn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3797794), by [terryreviews](http://archiveofourown.org/users/terryreviews/pseuds/terryreviews).
> 
> I also like [One Hundred and Twenty-Six Dollars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3146957), a cute Barduil Coffee Shop AU by [MasterOfAllImagination](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfAllImagination/pseuds/MasterOfAllImagination). 
> 
> For all who left kudos and comments: Thank you for your kindness!

 

 

“I believe he is awakening, Mithrandir.”

Thranduil watched, concerned, as Bard slowly blinked himself awake, becoming aware of his surroundings.

~o0o~

When the Wizard formally announced the will and gift of the Valar, he had turned to his Bowman, and was alarmed to see that his face had gone completely white, the color in his lips disappearing. He barely grabbed him in time before Bard’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward; his head was a mere hair's breadth from slamming into the wooden arm of his chair.

“Bard!” he cried, catching him. He looked up at Gandalf, alarmed. “Help me, quickly!”

Even as he said the words, the Wizard already had hold on Bard’s legs. “Let’s take him in to your bedchamber.” They turned Bard around, then Thranduil backed up, with Gandalf holding his feet, and they laid him on the bed. Then the Wizard walked around Thranduil, and examined him. “Now, let me see…” He held Bard’s wrist for a moment, and opened an eye to check if his pupils were normal, which they were, thank the Valar.

“He's just passed out, Thranduil. I don’t see anything more serious than that. What we need to do is get the blood back up toward his head. Let’s get his boots off and hand me that those pillows.”

Thranduil quickly handed the other pillows to him. He knew many things about the race of Men, but he had never seen anything like this, and he was shaken by it. This race was so fragile… Gandalf was busy, taking off his boots. As soon as they were on the floor, the pillows were under his feet.

“What do we do now?” Thranduil asked the Wizard, as he sat beside his Bowman, taking his hand and massaging it, as he leaned over him, trying to contain his fright.

  
He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We wait. It will be all right. Just give things a minute or two, and he will come around. I promise you, this is nothing that serious.” 

~o0o~

Now, as Mithrandir had promised, Bard was waking up, although he still looked pale. Thranduil watched his face, still not feeling reassured. He saw the color slowly return to the Man’s cheeks, and felt relief when he saw recognition in his eyes.

“What happened?” Bard asked weakly. Then his voice was a tiny bit stronger. “I fainted, didn’t I?”

Thranduil stroked his face. “Yes, I am afraid you did. I managed to catch you in time before you broke your skull on the furniture. You gave me quite a fright.” He gave Bard a small smile, then he reached to his bedside table and poured a glass of water. “I think you should drink this, it might make you feel a bit better. Do you feel ready to sit up?”

“Why don’t we find out? Bard, using Thranduil’s arm for leverage, slowly started to sit, and had to stop for a moment to get his bearings, then, finally was upright, his back against the headboard. He took the water and sipped it. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Oh, not to worry, Bard.” Gandalf smiled at him. “You’ve had a bit of a shock. In fact, you’ve had a great many of them recently. You’ve seen many things beyond your ken, and I’m rather surprised you haven’t collapsed sooner, if I’m to be honest. Your life has been turned upside down in a matter of weeks, don’t you agree?”

“I can’t argue with that. It isn’t all bad, but it still is quite a lot.”

“Well, there you are. Don’t be hard on yourself. I’ve known many Men in my years on Middle Earth, and there aren’t many who could withstand all that’s been thrust upon your shoulders. I’m proud of you. The Valar would never consider taking the time and effort for someone they did not deem was worthy. You will be quite all right, I assure you.”

“It’s just that all this…changes _everything_. And I have my children to think about. I don’t know what to do…”

Bard looked at Thranduil, who was now feeling apprehensive. What if it was too much, and Bard didn’t want it at all? He could understand this; Bard has a brand-new kingdom, a young family, and now love. He understood, but he was still afraid of the hurt, if Bard rejected this offer, and Thranduil couldn't say or do anything about it. This had to be Bard’s decision, and it had to be made freely. He tried his best to keep a neutral expression on his face when he turned away from Bard’s gaze.

Quickly, a hand was on his arm, squeezing it. He looked back into those hazel eyes, that looked like his woods. Bard was smiling. “No, don’t think that. It’s not like that. I want to be with you, Thranduil. I know we belong together. This,” he gestured between them, “this might have happened fast, but I _know_  in my bones this is right. At first, I couldn’t understand how it happened, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t real.”

Bard made to get up, and was quickly stopped by Thranduil. “Please, rest some more, _Meleth nîn.”_

“Please, I want to work all this out. I have to. Don’t you?” he asked the Elf.

Thranduil wanted to, as well. He smiled and nodded. Turning to the Wizard, he asked, “May we continue this discussion, Mithrandir?”

“Of course. But stay here, I’ll get myself a chair. I don’t want Bard to get up just yet.”

" That is a good idea," Thranduil agreed. He kissed Bard’s forehead. “I, too will get a chair, and then bring in some drinks.”

“All right. And you’re right about the wine. Just make sure you keep it pouring, will you?”

Once they were settled in the chairs beside the bed, and had their cups full, Bard wanted to go over everything. “So, the powers that be, _and I do mean that literally_ , not to mention a major miracle involving my late wife, and his late wife, have conspired so that Thranduil and I could be together, for eternity?”

Gandalf nodded his head, affirming Bard’s statement.

“And, we have two choices of how we can stay together: The first is, I close the Immortal life, and we either live forever on Middle Earth, or sail for Valinor, and spend our days there. The second choice would be, Thranduil chooses the Mortal life, and we both die, and go to the same place where Men go, together? Have I got this right?”

“That’s exactly right. The important word is ‘together.’ You must make this choice together, and it must be made before you wed. And by “wed,” I mean-“

“I know what you mean. Because of the 'Elf Thing.'"

Thranduil's eyebrows shot up.  “I beg your pardon? ' _The Elf Thing?’”_

“You know what I mean." Bard shrugged. "When your spirits join when you marry.  The ‘Elf Thing.’”

Thranduil smirked and leaned toward him and whispered. “Bard, believe me when I tell you, you _will like_ the ‘Elf thing’ very, _**very**_ much.”

Bard smirked back at him. “Well, at least I know you Elves have sex. When you two started talking about your different mating practices, it scared the shit out of me...”

Unfortunately, Gandalf was taking a drink right then, and he nearly choked on it.

The Elvenking said, “Oh, I assure you; we do have sex, and Elves are quite limber and creative. You have no idea…” he kissed his Bowman tenderly.

At this, Gandalf coughed again. “Please! I’m _begging_ you two; can we please get back to-“

“Fine, fine." Bard winked at the Elf. "The Wizard’s right. We can deal the ‘Elf Thing’ later.”

Thranduil leered at Bard. “I am looking forward it, _Meleth nîn_. More than you can imagine.”

“Are you both finished, now?” Gandalf was blushing.

Thranduil looked at Bard, and they both looked at the Wizard with sheepish grins.

“Good. Now, as I said, you must decide before you…well, you know,” Gandalf quickly put both his hands up, “and, _don't elaborate_...”

Bard looked at Thranduil. “All I know right now is, I want to be with you, and I belong with you. Maybe this is happening fast because, after everything we’ve been through, we deserve to start our new life as soon as possible. What do you think?”

Thranduil felt his heart swell with happiness. “I believe that is true. I love you, and I do not want to wait any longer than I must.” The words said out loud sent a thrill through him.

“So,” Bard turned to Gandalf, “the only thing left to decide is: where do we end up, and how long would us take to get there?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not my only question. If I choose to be Immortal, would I look like an Elf?”

Gandalf laughed. “No. But you’ll stop aging, and be impervious to disease, like an Elf is. If Thranduil chooses the Mortal path, he will age, be susceptible to illness, and pass on at within the same length of time as you.”

Bard thought for a few moments. “I was only expecting about thirty to forty years more in this life, and so is my Kingdom. If you were to take my path, Thranduil, who would look after your Realm, and your people? They’ll need you a lot longer than mine ever would. And I have an heir who will take over the job. You, at this point, don’t.”

“This is true, _Meleth nîn_ , but have you considered what it will be like, to outlive all of your children? And their children? You will have a heavy price to pay, as well. Please, do not forget this, and consider carefully.”

Bard thought about this for several minutes. “You’re right. But, I know for a fact, that they will join their mother. I've seen for myself that she isn't so much gone, but living in another place.  That means more... " Bard’s voice became hoarse. "...it means the world to me. They won’t be alone, and neither will Mattie. She feels _real_ , to me, now, in a good way.  When my children join her, she will have the time with them she was robbed of, on Middle-Earth.  She was taken from them, and so I like the idea of her being with our children, and all the children after that. I’ve never known for certain until tonight, until she told me herself that she wanted this for me. It’s one thing to think on and imagine such things, but to see the proof of it, right before my eyes…  The children will just be living the next part of their life, and I think they’ll be happy.” He looked to the Wizard. “Do you believe they would be all right?”

“Yes, Bard, I do.” The Wizard smiled.

“What about Bain? You said you would speak of what is to become of Bain, because he is also a Dragonslayer.”

“I did. Bain will also receive a gift from the Valar, but not yet. It’s not his time, Bard. These gifts are given based on the lives of the recipients, and their owrn desires. The Elf Glorfindel, who currently resides in Rivendell, also killed a creature of Morgoth, but his gift wasn’t the same. He died killing a Balrog, something as evil and frightening as Smaug was. I don’t wish to speak of it any further, except to tell you, Glorfindel was granted a new life, and returned from Valinor, after he left the Halls of Mandos. It was what he desired.

“Bain won’t know for some time yet, what his desire might be, so I want you both to promise me you will _speak nothing_ of this to him. He must be able to live his life without this idea of a reward. It cannot be a factor in who and what he decides to be, do you understand? I will be the one to approach him when the Valar believes the time is right. You must agree to this, for his sake. I wouldn’t have mentioned it all, had you not broached the subject yourself. Do you agree to this?”

“Absolutely.” Bard agreed with Gandalf’s reasoning. 

“And I promise as well.” Thranduil said.

"So, how do we explain to the children when I don't age?  Or my people?"

"An excellent question, Bard."  The Wizard pondered.  "Your children should be told something when you deem the time to be right, but simply tell them that by marrying Thranduil, you inherited his fate, and nothing more."

"I won't lie to them, Gandalf."

"No, and you shouldn't, Bard, but you don't need burden them with all the details.  As to your people... I would advise extreme caution,as to what they should know.   Don't worry about that for now; these are decisions you won't have to think about for years.   At any rate, I will be visiting here and there, so perhaps I can advise you, when the time comes."

"That's a good plan." Bard nodded. "But we still need to decide, Thranduil. I want to know what you think.”

“I do not like the idea of watching you grieve over your children. But you are correct, in saying that my duties to my Kingdom far outlive your natural years. There is something I have not told you yet, because the plan was to tell both you and Dáin together.” Thranduil turned to Gandalf. “I think it would be wise to tell him now, but I defer to your wishes, Mithrandir.”

“This might not be the best time to tell you, Bard, but I think Thranduil’s right. You two have to make an informed decision and this is a strong factor.”

“What is it?”

“When the White Council went to Dol Guldur last month, we discovered the true identity of the Necromancer. He was the One who sent the Orcs to attack Erebor and Dale. The Lady Galadriel banished him, at great cost to herself, and he has returned to Mordor, where he once was.”

Just the mention of all this made Thranduil’s stomach turn, and his breathing to increase, but he was determined to stay focused.

Bard went white. “Oh, Valar… You can’t mean…”

Gandalf became serious. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s true. It was Sauron himself who was there. It was he who poisoned Thranduil’s lands and wants the Northern Kingdoms to fail.”

“I knew he was behind it all, I just can’t believe he was here. So close..."

Thranduil said, “I am afraid there’s more, _Meleth nîn_.  I told you I have the gift of foresight, as well as Gandalf, and we believe that sometime in the future, he will return.  It will be _the_ War that will decide everything whether Middle Earth will give in to evil until the end of time, or Sauron will be vanquished for good, and Middle Earth will be in peace.  We do not believe this will happen in your natural lifetime; it could be hundreds of years from now, or it could be as soon as during Bain’s or his son’s reign as King. We simply do not know. This is why the Northern Kingdoms must become united as allies and will need as much time as possible to become strong and stable.”

“And you need to be there to protect your Kingdom and fight this war. If you aren’t, then we all could lose, and Sauron will win.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. My son is gone, and there is no one else to lead my people.” The words said out loud stung.

Bard took his hand and squeezed it, offering him comfort. “He’s gone, only for now. You don’t know what might happen, Thranduil.”

The King of Dale continued. “I was leaning towards a life with you in Valinor, and this settles it. If all this is true, then I want to help. Those will be my descendants in Dale, and they will always be my people. They will need all the help they can get. That’s more important than anything, Thranduil. If we knowingly turn our backs on what is to come, then we would never forgive ourselves, would we? I couldn’t.”

“Do you need some time to think through?  Please Bard, you must be certain about all of this.” Thranduil wanted to be sure that Bard would decide this freely, and not have regrets. It broke his heart to think that he might be separated from Bard, after just declaring their feelings, but he knew he wouldn't walk away from his own people, knowing what was to come. He couldn’t. But he still didn’t want Bard to feel forced to give up so much, without considering each aspect of it.

Bard sat back and looked away, thinking for a few minutes. “I think I know what to do about that. When the time comes for Bain to be ready to take over Dale, then he will. I will come to your Kingdom to live permanently. If it is better that my Immortality be kept secret, then we could work out something so that only my children know, and they could come and see me there. I won’t deny Bain his birthright, and if I stay in Dale indefinitely, it could weaken his position.  Who knows for sure? That detail isn’t something we have to decide now.”

Gandalf considered this.  "I agree.  If you do this, Bard, I urge caution; we can't know how all this will change you, besides Immortality.  Your abilities might be different, so be careful to whom you confide.

He looked to Thranduil, “What do you think?”

Thranduil kissed his hand and said, “I am in favor of that.  This is something we can work out later.  I would love for you to live in my kingdom with me, when the time comes.” _Oh, just the thought of waking up with Bard every morning, and getting into bed with him at night…_

“Gandalf?” Bard looked to the Wizard, to get his opinion.

“That’s a perfect solution. Bain deserves to be a King.  This is his destiny, and it should not be altered, when the time comes.” Gandalf said.

“I don’t think so, either. Normally, he wouldn’t be King until I would be dead, but this will be even better, because I won’t wait until I am old and grey, and, should he really need some guidance, he’ll still have me to come to. This could only help him be the best King Dale would ever have.”

Thranduil smiled at Bard. “That is wise, _Meleth nîn_. We both will help him, and his descendants after that.”

“You said that I won't look like an Elf, and I won’t fall ill like a man would. What about Elven quickness and strength. Will that increase?” Bard, inquired.

“I don’t know about that,” Gandalf answered, “You might just have to wait and see.”

“I can live with that. Could I be killed?”

“Yes, Bard, you could, just as Thranduil could be."

“I hate the idea of Thranduil going through what he did when his wife died. If he loves me, and we are joined, he could face the same heartache.” Bard looked at him, brows furrowed.

Gandalf wisely took some time to consider Bard’s question. “Wouldn’t that also be a possibility of you stay Mortal, Bard? If you were to die before you are joined, do you think Thranduil wouldn't grieve deeply?  Or you, if he were to die now?”

Thranduil searched Bard’s eyes, who searched his back. Gandalf was right. Even right at this moment, his heart was lost to this Man, and the chance to avoid grief was past. Bard seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“Thranduil, you know what you want, right?”

“Yes, I do, _Meleth nîn_. I hope that is what you want, too.”

Bard took Thranduil’s hand, who kissed it. They turned to Gandalf.

“I choose an Immortal life with Thranduil, and I choose the same fate as the Elves.”

Gandalf clasped his hands together and smiled. “Wonderful! Congratulations! I think you two are doing the right thing.  Now, when is your wedding? I would honored to officiate, at the ceremony, if you have one."

Both Bard and Thranduil suddenly deflated, as reality slapped them both in the face.

Thranduil spoke, with trepidation. “I would be expected to speak with my Council first.  They would insist on a voice, with regards to who I choose as Consort of the Realm, as well as demand a long betrothal period." He groaned. "There would be endless arguments, and interference...”

 Thranduil cringed at the thought of it. With Mírelen, they had all the splendor of a traditional Elven courtship and a beautiful wedding. He didn’t regret those at all. But with Bard, it was different. It felt private, more personal, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Bard considered Thranduil’s words, then he said, “Dale is still new, and everything about this place is still being established, so I’m not worried about them accepting a relationship with Thranduil.  I’m not sure what to do as far as myself, though. I don’t want a betrothal at all. If we did that, it would probably cause the same problem, only in my case _they_ would want to “help.”  They'd mean well, but it would cause more of a hullabaloo than I'd want." Bard looked over at him, and squeezed his hand.  "Our people have so much of us, I want this to just be you and me."

Thranduil was greatly relieved. Bard hated the idea of pomp and ceremony as well. However, the next thought he had was already being voiced.

“I need to think about how this affects my children, and how they would feel. As much as I don’t want to wait, I still think they should be given some time to adjust.” Bard looked at him, apologetically, afraid of disappointing him. Thranduil smiled, got up off the chair, and kissed him. He was not disappointed at all. His Bowman was a good father, and this only showed his quality.

“Do you think they'd reject him?” Gandalf asked.

“No, I don’t think so, but they _would_  be hurt if they weren't told ahead of time.”

“Bard, what if they wanted to prevent it? What would be their reasons?” Thranduil was worried.

“I think they would be afraid of losing me.”

“And _would_ they lose you?” asked Gandalf.

“Absolutely not!”

“Then I will work to convince them of this; I have no desire to come between you and them.” Thranduil felt hopeful.

“They don’t know you very well, yet, but I’m not concerned. So far, they love all the Elves, and dinner here, earlier, went great. So, once they get used to it, I think they’ll be fine. We just have to make sure they know they aren't losing their Da, they’re just getting another one," Bard winked at Thranduil, "not to mention the run of an whole Elven Palace!"

“That will only happen over time; they must see it for themselves. Do you want to wait until then?” Thranduil offered.

Bard sat, thinking.

Gandalf looked at the two of them, and got up to leave.

“I’m afraid I have pressing business elsewhere at the moment, so I'll just leave the two of you to carry out the details." He smiled down at them.  "It isn’t often the Valar asks me to carry out such a delightful task. I’m happy for you both.” He walked over to the entrance of the bedchamber, winked at them and bid them good night.

This left the Elf and the Bowman alone, for the first time, as an official couple.

They sat, still holding hands, and looked at each other, suddenly feeling a bit awkward as to what to do next.

 

***************

 

Bard looked at his Elf, grinning from ear to ear.

_His Elf!_

He loved the excitement he felt at just thinking this. He was in love with this strong, mighty Elvenking, and it seemed too good to be true, that this ethereal, stunning being loved him right back. What could he possibly say that would capture how all of this feels?

“I love you so much,” were the inadequate words that came out, but it was the best he could think of.

“And I you, Bard of Dale. You bring me joy.” Thranduil kissed the sensitive inside of Bard's wrist, then met his gaze, eyes shining.

“Come here,” were the second-best words that Bard could think of. He opened his arms out, and Thranduil left his chair, and went to the bed, embracing him. They just sat there, holding each other, and breathing in each other’s scent and stroking each other’s hair. This was so warm, and felt so perfect.

“I wish we could stay here always, and never have to part again. As much as I know you love your children, and as I love my son and Tauriel, I could remain like this forever, and be content.  I love you, so much, Bard.”  Thranduil turned his face down and hid it in the crook where his neck met his shoulder and swallowed several times.

Bard kissed Thranduil’s hair and said, “I love you too. I agree; this is wonderful.”

Reluctantly, they broke apart. Bard scooted over so Thranduil could sit on the bed beside him. Thranduil took his hand and entwined their fingers, leaning his head next to his, smiling.

“I like the idea of spending eternity with you. Forever, really and truly forever - just think of it!”

Thranduil laughed. “I still cannot believe it.” Then Thranduil became serious. “I want you to know something.”

“Oh? What’s that, love?” Bard turned to look at him.

Thranduil rested his hand against Bard’s cheek. “I want you to know that I would still want to be with you, even if you were to stay Mortal, and I would not.  I would want you, even though you would have to leave me forever after only a short time. I will always want to be with you."

Bard’s put his hand on Thranduil’s wrist and leaned into the hand on his cheek. “You would love me that much?”

“ _Meleth nîn_ , I already do.” Thranduil whispered. “Always.  No matter how long ‘always’ would be, and not look back and regret it. Do you believe me?”

“Yes. I do.” Bard leaned in and kissed this divine being, softly at first, then more urgently, as their hands started to move around each other. His mouth opened, and his spirit and body soared, as Thranduil’s tongue touched his, and began to explore his mouth. He was becoming lost in the sensation, and it sent him spinning. Stars above, he loved this. He wanted this; he wanted all of this Elf. _All of him. Now._ He pulled Thranduil in harder and moaned as their kiss intensified. So good...

 He could have him right now, and it would be _glorious, wouldn't it?_

But now wasn’t the right time. He wanted more than just sex with Thranduil. He wanted a _life_ with him. A happy life with him and their children. That was more important right now, wasn’t it?

_Yes, it was..._

He reluctantly stopped, and put some space between them, breathing heavily. In silent agreement, Thranduil nodded.

“You have no idea how hard that was,” said Bard, laughing a little.

“I absolutely know how hard you are.” Thranduil smirked, breathing heavily.

Bard really laughed at this. “You have the same problem.”

“I do. Happily so. But, I know why you are reluctant to proceed fully. The children are mportant, you are right to consider them.” Thranduil moved back and sat beside him.

“Sorry. I just want this all to the best it can possibly be.”

“I agree. Our children will always be important to us, so if we are to be together, we must help them.” Thranduil looked at his hand, still holding Bard’s. “Tauriel does not know about this either. She is important to me, and I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Tauriel already knows and approves. She told me so, right before I came here.” Bard gave him a reassuring smile. “Your daughter is much sharper than you give her credit for. She also told me Sigrid might suspect, and she seemed pleased.”

“What about Bain and Tilda? What if they suspect nothing, but are upset? And Legolas? What do I do about my son?”

Bard gave it a squeeze. “We’ll figure out the problem with Legolas. You’re not alone anymore, I promise you.”

Thranduil looked at him, his smile uncertain, but hopeful.

Bard kissed their joined hands. “It could be years before we hear from him, and I'd rather not wait until we get his consent to marry.  Is that all right?” He asked, half-joking.

“I agree. In any case, his life is his own, now.  He is not dependent upon me, like your children are.”  Thranduil sighed, sadly. “I was right to let him go.  He can see Middle Earth and discover things about himself in ways that I never could." He sighed.  "When I was his age, I was preparing to go to war with my father, then I was King.”

“We will find a way.  I’ll help you, love.”

Thranduil leaned his head against him. “Thank you, _Meleth nîn_. In the meantime, what do you want to do regarding your children?”

“They'll  be all right. They just don’t know you, that’s all.  All they need is a little time. They love the Elves, and are practically worship Tauriel. They even like Daeron, and Turamarth has been trying to learn Westron, with the children's help.  All the children in Dale like the Elves, so that’s not any obstacle. The only solution is for _you_ to spend more time with them, so they can feel comfortable with you personally, and grow to love you, like I do. Your gifts to them went a long way towards earning their trust.”

“I am glad, but I do not wish to buy their affections with gifts. I want their love to be sincere.”

“I agree.  They shouldn’t be showered with presents all the time, but what started them thinking of you as a friend, was the thought you put into those gifts.  It showed them that you were taking notice of what would make each one of them happy. That means a lot. It meant a lot to me, too.” Bard reached over and kissed him. “In fact, when I saw your thoughtfulness, especially with Tilda’s doll, that’s the moment I knew I was in love with you. When I was back in my tent, I was thinking about all of it when Mattie…came. She would have loved you, and what you did for our children.” He kissed the Elf again, even more thoroughly. “Thank you.”

Thranduil was touched. “You are most welcome. The children have such a way about them. They remind me of you. Especially Bain. He is the image of you, and also resembles Girion, when he was that age. Sigrid does not, so I’m guessing she takes after her mother?”

“Yes, that she does. In her looks and her ways. She is Mattie all over again.” Bard smiled.

“Tilda does not seem to resemble Bain or Sigrid that much, but she's a beautiful child."

"She takes after my Mam.  She has the same face, and was a tiny woman." 

"Was she always shy?”

“She's had a hard time, since the Battle..."  Bard sighed.  "It breaks my heart, but she's slowly coming back to us."  Bard squeezed the Elf’s hand.  “You’ve no idea what you’ve done by giving Charlotte back to her.  For her and for me.  I’ve no doubt now she’ll get better. Before this, I wouldn’t say she was really shy, she just needs a bit of time to decide things before she does something, or likes or dislikes anyone. She’s curious, but she’s cautious, too.”

Thranduil chuckled at him, “So, she _is_ like you. You are a man whose trust must be earned, and you want to know all you can before you make your decisions. I do not see you as the impulsive kind. That is an excellent quality in a man, and in a King. It can only do your Tilda good, if that is a strong trait in her.

“Sigrid seems to be a calm, but strong young woman. When my Chief Healer told me of the questions she was asking him, he was impressed, and that is saying something. Not much surprises him.” He grinned at Bard. “I think she will become an excellent healer, and I intend that she reaps the benefit of everything the Elves have to offer, in that respect. I would also suggest that you beseech the Dwarves to allow her to learn from them as well. Your kingdom is in the center of the North, and having experience with the race in our Kingdoms, would benefit her.”

Bard liked that. “That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.”

“Now, your Bain,” Thranduil continued, “has a great interest in military matters. This is good, because much of being a King regards the protection of his people, to be prepared for every eventuality. To strategize, yes, but be ready to respond instantly should the need arise. I've also seen a keen interest in history, and that is also a good sign.  He is going to be given a benefit that you do not have, which is years of education and training to be a good leader of his people. I am not worried about him.”

”He’ll be a better King than I’ll be; he won’t be flying by the seat of his pants.”

“Much of your efforts in Dale will come to fruition during your son's reign."

“You are making me love you more, you know that.” Bard grinned.

A short laugh. “Perhaps I am. But I would admire these qualities in your children even if you and I weren’t friends. But since we are together, I suggest we make opportunities for us to get to know each other.  Would you like to dine with me again, tomorrow night?”

“I love that idea. Let’s have Tauriel join us.  I want her to feel like part of the family.”

”I do too.” Thranduil kissed him again, “I wish I could make love to you now.” His lips lightly brushed over Bard’s and then they took in his lower lip and sucked on it lightly. Nuzzling their noses together, he kissed him again. “I know it is right that we wait until we can be a true family,” he gave a wicked grin, “but surely, Bard, there is _something_ we can do about this terrible want between us, do you not agree?”

Bard, enjoying his touches, nuzzled Thranduil’s neck, said, “Oh, I think we can think of something…” He jested, then started kissing his Elf, with determination.

Their kisses turned intense, their mouths claiming each other, their hands grasping at each other, as they both slid down on the bed. Thranduil was pulling Bard’s tunic up, feeling the hard lines of his stomach.

Bard reached his hand under the Elf’s tunic, on the warmth of Thranduil’s skin, and they stayed like this for a few moments, kissing, and just touching, pressing their hips together.

Then Thranduil, using those beautiful long fingers, reached down and undid the laces of Bard’s leggings and plunged his hand in, taking firm hold of Bard’s cock, which, half-hard, now stood up and took notice. Bard hissed through his teeth and threw his head back, moaning loudly when Thranduil started to pump him up and down, slowly.  After seven years, of aching loneliness, he could hardly believe someone else was touching him like this.  His heart pounded in his chest, and he buried his face in the crook of the Elf's neck. 

“Oh, Thranduil... " he whispered, his eyes closed, swallowing. This was so intimate; so... much more than he'd ever hoped for himself.   _And_ _it_ _felt_ _so_ , _so_ _good_...

This wasn’t fair, it was too one-sided, so before Thranduil knew what had happened, Bard had the Elf’s leggings down below his hips and he was given the same ministrations that he was being given.

“You're so beautiful… I love it.” Bard he whispered into the Elf's ear, and reached down and enveloped Thranduil’s cock in his mouth, and cupped his balls, massaging them gently.

Thranduil hissed And cried out rapidly in Elvish, as he arched his back, plunging his fingers in to Bard's thick, black hair.  He even forgot to touch Bard, he was so lost, _so lost._

Bard's hands held Thranduil's hips, as they thrust towards him, and cried out.  He loved knowing he was driving his Elf mad with desire.   _Oh, Valar, yes…_ The thought of that made his cock twitch, hard, and he hummed around Thranduil's cock, making the Elvenking shudder.

Gently, Thranduil pulled Bard's mouth off of him, Brought his head up to face him, and kissed him, hard. Plunging his tongue into the Bowman’s mouth, he was consuming him. Bard met his intensity, as the kiss deepened even more, both moaning.  Thranduil reached down and pushed Bard’s leggings down further, past his hips, and reached around to massage his buttocks, and run his fingers between the crack, down, down, until he found his opening, rubbing it in circles. Bard broke the kiss, looking into Thranduil’s eyes, whimpering, as those grey eyes were almost black with desire. _Oh yes…_ That’s what the Bard wanted to see. That intense pleasure, only beginning to build.

Panting heavily, the Elf reached into his bedside table for a bottle of scented oil. He poured some into his hand, then reached down between them again. He took Bard’s hard, thick cock in his hand again, and oiled it thoroughly, pumping up and down, playing with its head, running his thumb over the sensitive skin underneath the rim, back and forth, until Bard bucked his hips uncontrollably.

“Aah! Thranduil! Yeah, right there, love. Oh, it’s so good…” Bard growled. Then Thranduil gave the Bowman the oil, who put some in his hand and spread it up and down on Thranduil’s, throbbing length, red in its hardness. Using the same teasing moves with that he used on Bard, the Bowman grin evilly, as he toyed with the head of his cock, causing the Elvenking to grunt ferally, as he curled in on himself, eyes scrunched shut, trying to thrust his hips up, for more.

Thranduil put his long fingers around both of their cocks, and began to thrust, rubbing against him, with him, and moaning with each thrust. “ _A, Ma!_ I love your touches, Bard... Put your hands on me... It is so good, _Meleth nîn…”_

He pulled Bard’s tunic up, then turned his lips to Bard’s nipple and began to nip and suck at it, causing him to thrust against Thranduil’s cock harder and cry out with pleasure. Bard plunged his hand into the Elf’s hair to hold his head in place, begging him not to stop. His other hand reached in between them and joined the Elf’s in rubbing the undersides of their cocks together, and playing with the heads, spreading the precum over them to increase the sensation even more.

 _“AAH! MA, Bard!”_ Thranduil moaned loudly.  He bit Bard’s nipple hard, then soothed it with his tongue and continued to suckle on it vigorously, as their hips thrust together with increasing urgency. It was incredible to be touched like this. They were lost in the sensation, until he felt Thranduil's cock shudder. He grabbed the back of Thranduil’s neck, pulled his head toward him, and gave the tip of Thranduil’s ear a nip and started to suck on it, flicking his tongue over it in rapid motions. The Elf, screamed out with that incredible baritone voice, his moans and grunts becoming louder and more urgent, started pumping their joined cocks faster and faster.

 _“I’m gonna come… I want to come…oh, fuck…”_ The thoughts were running through Bard’s head over and over, faster and faster, until he cried out as the heat in his groin exploded, his muscles stiffened, curling his hips toward Thranduil hard, with powerful thrusts. He climaxed all over their hands, and Thranduil used it to lubricate them, still pumping their hands up and down, milking him dry. Bard was almost done with his release, when he felt Thranduil’s cock quiver and shake and then the Elf threw his head back and let it all go with a savage scream, gritting his teeth, trying to form words, but unable to.  Thranduil bucked with incredible strength into their hands, crying out with every single thrust; unable to form words. They moved together still, wanting to savor each sensation, each aftershock.

They eventually started to slow down, and regain their wits. Their panting and gasping slowed down, and frantic nature of their touch and kisses became tender and loving, as they came down from their euphoria and became themselves again. To release like that, even without the actual sex, helped to quench a thirst Bard had suffered for a long, long, time. He felt boneless, sinking into Thranduil's arms.

Once he could get his breath back, Bard kissed Thranduil and said, smiling. “If this is just a taste of what I have to look forward to, then I’m the luckiest man on Middle Earth.”

“I am the most fortunate Elf alive, _Meleth nîn._ I love you.”

“And I love you."  They lay on their sides facing each other, feeling the glow of release, looking tenderly into each other's eyes, feeling a whole new level of closeness.

After a time, Bard frowned, and said, "I hate to say this, but I have to get cleaned up and get back to my children, in a while. I don’t want to leave you, but I’m afraid if I stay, I won’t be able to stop…”

“I understand. Stay there for a moment.” Thranduil kissed him, and got up, pulling his leggings up a bit, leaving them open, and went to the bathing area. He came back with a wet towel and a dry one, and began to clean Bard off.

“You are so beautiful. I love to look at you.” He took his finger, and traced the line of dark hair from his navel, down to the nest of hair above his cock, where he circled, tickling him. “This fascinates me.”

“I’m glad you like it. Here.” Bard took the wash cloth and cleaned Thranduil off. “You have no hair on you _at_ _all_?” he asked, curious.

“Elves have no hair except on their heads. It is why I find all of yours so interesting. Does this bother you?”

Bard smiled at him, stroking Thranduil's cock, then cupping his balls. "I love it.  It feels like you're brand-new, made just for me."

“I feel brand-new, _Meleth nîn._  Your love has restored and healed much in me.”

Thranduil kissed him tenderly for several moments, and they spent some time, just holding each other, no words needing to be said.

After a while, Thranduil reluctantly spoke. “As much as it saddens me to say this, you must get back to your children.”

They each straightened out their underclothes, laced up their leggings, and Bard replaced his tunic. After inspecting Bard quickly to make sure he didn’t look like he had done what he had, in fact, just done, Thranduil led him by the hand out to the meeting area, where he helped Bard into his coat.

Bard kissed him again. “Good night, love. Get some rest.”

“I will try. You as well. If you can, try to sleep later than usual. You need the rest more, and it is late.” He kissed Bard again, and they started to move toward the entrance together.

Bard glanced at the small side table, and spied something that shouldn’t be there. “Looks like Gandalf forgot his hat.”

“This is very unusual, I must tell you. You do not know Mithrandir like I do. He is not the kind to forget about anything, unless it suits his purposes.” Thranduil reached down and picked up the hat, and they both gasped in surprise.

Sitting on the table, underneath where the Wizard’s blue, pointy hat had been, were two silver rings.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil makes Bard aware of a serious problem, and offers a solution, although it will break Bard's heart. 
> 
> They enjoy a lively meal with the children, but not before Hilda gets a bit protective of her and Percy's beloved Bard...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite story written by [thepizzasitter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter/works?fandom_id=541478) is called [As The Earth Heals (So Too Shall I)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3397502), along with five other great Barduil works. You'll enjoy them.
> 
> There's a great two-part series called [the cherry trees and seas of bloom.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/199742) that's sexy and angsty, and well-written. It was written by [wolfhalls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfhalls/pseuds/wolfhalls). I liked it much.
> 
> Enjoy Chapter Fifteen, and thank you again for all the kudos and , kind comments!!

 

 

“I don’t understand, Thranduil? You want to _what?"_  Bard asked him, incredulously.

“It is not I,  _personally,_ that wishes to, but there have been several of my people who have expressed concern for your orphans. Have you found homes for them all?” Thranduil asked them patiently.

They were sitting at Thranduil’s table again, just after lunch. Thranduil had asked him to bring Percy and Hilda to his tent today, as well as Galion, because he had a matter of some importance to speak with them about.

“No, we haven’t, My Lord, and I don’t mind telling you, I’m worried for them.” Hilda told the Elf. “There are so many, and some of the folks showed a willingness to take three of them in, and those were ones that didn’t have brothers or sisters. At this point, our folk are too poor to even think of taking in an entire brood.  Not without houses to put them in, and I don’t blame them.  And even then,” she looked fiercely at the Men and the Elves in the meeting,  "I’ll only place a child after I make sure he or she will be well-cared for.  I’ve had to turn some folks down, because I had doubts.  I won’t have a child placed simply because they need someone to help them.  If they won’t truly love those poor bairns as their own, they’re better off staying with all the others. I can’t do that to them.  And," she looked determined. "I _will_ _not_ break up a family!"

“Lady Hilda, I commend you for your wisdom in this matter. Your people have suffered much, and to have a child lose both parents, only to be forced to live in an unhappy, loveless home is cruel.”

“I agree, Thranduil, but what you are proposing is…” Bard was uncertain.

“Bard, Lady Hilda, I completely understand your apprehensions.  Children are cherished in our culture. I am aware you have little reason to believe me, as most of what you have seen from us is our military. You have not the chance to witness the families of the Woodland Realm, and how they care for their young.”

“My Lord, from what I’ve seen when they visit the children now, I’m pleased. But visiting them for an hour or two, when they aren’t on duty is nothing like actual parenting. Especially one of a different race. I can’t just hand them over! I have to know they are not only cared for, but they’ll be brought up well, too. I don’t want them to end up spoiled and undisciplined. They’re _human_ children, Thranduil. They’re not immortal, so these parents have to be sure they can face their eventual death.  They have physical limitations, and dietary needs; they grow up completely different than an Elven child, from what I've learned. If your folk aren’t prepared to face all that, I can’t let them go.” Hilda was adamant.

“Of course, you cannot. And you should not.” Thranduil told her. “This topic, however, is a critical part of a bigger problem that I foresee for your people, which needs to be addressed before the winter.”

Bard, and the others looked at him, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“The problem is this: I have told you that I believe we will have a hard winter, have I not?  As much help as I can give you, I will.  But, I do not believe that fuel and food will be enough for the injured, the sick, and the vulnerable during the cold months.  Your immediate problem is providing warm and dependable shelter.  Even with help from the Elves and the Dwarves, there simply will not be enough time to get the structures built.”  Thranduil let them all consider this for a moment.

“I don’t think we can leave Dale, Thranduil.  I’m afraid to desert it, now that we have it.  What if, while we’re gone, the place is overrun? Plus, there's a lot we can do during the winter months.  If we get the outside structures passable, we can work on the indoors on bad days.”

“Bard, early winter is already upon us.  We have only a few weeks before the heavy snows come, along with the freeze. Can you shelter _all_ your people adequately in that amount of time?”  Thranduil asked Bard, not without compassion.

Bard sat back, looking unhappy. “No. No, we can’t.  But I _can’t_ leave the city.”

“You are right, you cannot leave it. And yes, it is true, that there is much you could do during those months. Please rest assured that my soldiers will be stationed here for as long as you need them. I will be sending supplies when the road is passable. But weather is unpredictable, Bard.  I should like you to consider that many of your people simply cannot stay here during the worst of the winter or they may not survive.”

As Thranduil was looking at all of them, Bard began to understand what he was proposing. And he _hated_ it, so much so, that his heart lurched in his chest.  This would mean he’d be separated from his children for weeks, possibly months, at a time. And he would be separatated from Thranduil. The idea of that plunged his stomach into disarray. _Oh, Valar…no…_

“I should like to invite your sick, your elderly, all the women and the children to stay in the Woodland Realm during the winter months. I believe it would be safer for them, and I vow to you that they all will be well cared for.  I recommend that the men stay in the camp - those that are able - and use that time to prepare housing for their return in the spring.”

“Bard,” the Elvenking said gently, “I am sorry to cause you distress. I truly am. But I do not believe the children would do well in the ruins of Dale over the winter, do you? Or the sick, your elderly? What about the women in the camp?  Please,” Thranduil looked around at everyone, “Please think about what I am offering to your people. I offer them comfort, warmth and safety. I do not take this separation from your children lightly.” He put a comforting hand on his Bowman’s forearm, and whispered to him. “I just want to help you, I am not trying to hurt you.”

Hilda was looking between him and the Elf, curiously. Bard could see the wheels spinning in her head, and he knew the exact moment she realized what he and Thranduil only expressed to each other last night. She smiled broadly at the both of them, but said nothing.

Bless her for her silence, because this was not the time for personal announcements; he was too upset.

This Elf wanted to take his children away, and he was struggling desperately with it.  His first instinct was to shout at him, to throttle him.  He had never, _ever_ been separated from them!  He could protect them, couldn’t he?

Bard rubbed his hands over his face. No. He couldn’t. Not when the bitter cold comes. Not when he would be gone, working all day. They would have Tauriel, but a tent was no place for a child to be living for months in the cold! What about all the rest of his people? He hadn’t considered this at all!

How stupid could he be? _Bloody fuck!!_ He felt hurt, angry with himself, and completely inadequate. If Thranduil hadn’t brought this up, some of his people could have died, and it would have been his fault! Some King he’d make…

His face must have reflected his thoughts, because he felt Hilda put her hand in his, and squeeze it a little.

“Bard? I’m sorry, but I think Lord Thranduil is right. And it’s generous of him to want to take us in over the winter, don’t you?” She gave his hand another squeeze. “What do you think? I know it’s hard, but it’s the right thing to do, love. Don’t blame yourself. You’ve been doing a wonderful job. And anyway, Percy and I didn’t think of it either, did we?”

Bard was too upset to say anything, so he just nodded his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Hilda looked to Percy, “What do you think?”

“I hate the idea of you going, but it will only be for a season. This is the best solution.”

“It’s only for this winter. Next year, we’ll be settled, so no one will have to leave." Hilda said. "This will give the sick and the injured a chance to recover, and it will keep the kids healthy and warm.” She looked at Thranduil. “I could also look over the Elves to see about placing the orphans.”

“That would be another benefit to my offer.” Thranduil told her. “You would have the time needed to meet prospective foster parents and educate them in what will be required to raise a human child. It may also help the children that are placed, to adjust better, if they are still surrounded by their people during that time.”

“All this sounds good to me.  To tell you the truth, I was worried sick, but now I feel a bit better.  My Lord, this is a real blessing to us.”

He smiled back at her, and offered more drinks.

“Bard?”

He looked over at the Elf, who was addressing him. Thranduil was giving him a thoughtful look. “As King, of course, you will want to see the Palace, so you can be assured of your people’s well-being.”

“I do. Even if I’m not there with them, they’re all my responsibility. No one is going if it’s not suitable.” Bard told him. He trusted Thranduil completely, but he was not Dale’s King.  In the end, the responsibility for their welfare was not Thranduil’s, it was his.

“I agree. I must leave after we are finished meeting with the Dwarves, to attend ceremonies at home, and I will be returning  four days later.  Would you be willing to leave Percy and Hilda in charge, and attend the ceremonies with me? You will get a thorough tour of my Palace and the Realm so you may make your final decision, and I promise to respect it.”

This made Bard feel much better. If he could visualize his children there, he might get through the separation. Looking at his Elf, he saw this was the real reason for the visit, and he wanted to kiss him for it. Thoroughly.

“I accept your invitation, Thranduil. I’d feel better if I saw things for myself.”

“Let us hold off on further details and final decisions until our return, shall we? For now, I would like to ask you to give me an assessment of the supplies that you need at this time.”  Thranduil turned to Percy.  “King Bard and I will start our meetings with the Dwarves in two days, and we need to ascertain what building supplies and services you will need, and what to request of the Dwarves. I have asked your King for some names among your people experienced in construction to help schedule the rebuilding, and what supplies are needed.”

Bard said, “And I have provided Thranduil with one. Old Ben has built or repaired a lot of Laketown, over the years and even though he isn’t up to the work itself anymore, we’ll find no better to oversee things. What do you think?”

“Aye, you’re right there, Bard. No one could do it better. Ben should choose an assistant himself. He’d know the best person for that better than you or me. Have you asked him?”

“Not yet, but I was hoping you could go see him after this meeting. Lists are going to need to be made as soon as possible. Can Ben read and write?”

“Now, _that_ I don’t know. I’ve never seen him do it.” Percy looked over at the Elvenking sheepishly, “Begging your pardon, My Lord, but there’s not many from Laketown that can. The only reason Bard, Hilda and I know how is because of Mattie, Bard’s wife. She worked as teacher in Dorwinian, and did some at Laketown, before the Master shut the schools down.”

“Please, Percy, do not worry. I have learned of your former Master’s oppression, and this is a mark against _his leadership_ , not your people. Perhaps I can supply you with some aides that write in Westron? All he will have to do is simply inspect and talk of what would be required, then they could list it as he speaks?”

Percy nodded. “That would suit just fine. It will also be faster. The quicker we can get those lists together, the quicker we know where we stand. If you could get these Elves together now, they can come with me when I see Ben. I still say Ben should get an assistant from Dale, two heads bein’ better than one, so to speak.”

“That is a wise idea. Galion, would you please go choose two of our company and bring them back here to accompany Percy when he sees Master Builder Ben?”

“Right away, Sire.” Galion left with a bow.

Percy had an idea. “Bard, what if, during the next couple of weeks or so, we work on just the Great Hall? I think the building would house all the men, and it would save the worry of separate houses. We could make sure roof is in good repair, and then get the doors fixed. It’s connected to the Castle, and there are rooms in the back to sleep in, for you, me and the older men. The younger ones could stay in the main part of the building. It’s got a big kitchen in it, so that would solve the problem of food there, plus the heat of the stoves and ovens could help warm the Hall. Lord Thranduil, it would also house your men that you plan on leaving here, and it would help keep them warm as well.”

“I believe it would hold a great deal of them. Elves do not feel the cold like Men do, but I think they would enjoy the winter more of they were stationed with you. I will want shelters set up inside the City Wall to house sentries on duty, but the ones rotated out, could remain housed with your men and assist in the building efforts. Is that is agreeable, Bard?”

Bard nodded. “That would be perfect, and it would conserve a lot of fuel for heating and cooking. Plus, I think it would be good for the men to be around each other, rather than scattered. After the women and children leave, it will be lonely. I know that would help me get through the winter.” He smiled to Thranduil. “I think the Elves will miss the children, too.”

“I agree.” Thranduil said. “Feren will be stationed here, Bard, to command the troops, and to assist you over the winter. Galion and I, with Lady Hilda’s help, shall look after your people in my Halls. Is this also agreeable to you?”

“I think so. I’ve only spoken to him a few times, but he appears capable, and he seems to get along with my people well. Pers? Your thoughts?”

Percy, who has spent more time with Feren, agreed. “He’s the man for the job. I’ve not seen anyone who didn’t take a shine to him. He’s respectful to us and doesn’t look down on anyone. I’ve heard that some Elves like to put their noses in the air, but he’s not one of them.”

Bard rubbed his mouth, and struggled to keep a straight face. No one could be haughtier and snootier than the Elvenking himself, when the mood struck him.

He cleared his throat then said, “All right, let’s see where we are all at: I will go with Thranduil next week to see the Realm and the Palace, and give the final go ahead with the women and children staying there. Old Ben will firstly, inspect the Great Hall, and the adjoining rooms to tell us how to get ready for winter. Secondly, give us an estimate of the stone that we will need to fix the city walls. After that, he needs go around the town and get lists together for what supplies will be needed to rebuild the town. Pers, I’d like those to be ready before tomorrow night.

“We’ll be meeting with the Dwarves, starting the following morning, so we can know what help we will need from them, and how much it will cost. Most of the structures here are stone, and we’ll need plenty of it. Hilda, I’m almost positive you and the rest will be going, but remember that Elves don’t live like us. They’re used to jumping from the treetops, and things like that, so if there are things that need to be adjusted, I’ll make sure to see it done.” He looked at Thranduil, “Am I right?”

“You are. I have already ordered the installation of railings for all of our walkways, to keep the children from falling. And when you are there, you can help us with further measures that might be taken to ensure everyone’s safety.”

Bard smirked. “Ah, so you already planned for them?”

“Not at all, although I did consider this situation shortly after the Battle. If you did agree, this would ensure they would be finished in plenty of time. Even if you did not, since relations between our Kingdoms has been renewed, there will be children of Men coming there, and we would require them, regardless.” Thranduil told him.

Bard couldn’t argue with that logic. But he couldn’t help but tease his Elf. “You Elves are that anxious to see our kids, yeah?”

“You might say that. As I have been telling you, Elves adore children. We would never want to see any of them harmed in any way.” Thranduil smiled at all of them. “It has been reported to me that they are quite eager to see them.”

“I don’t think there’s anything else, do you?” Bard asked around the table.

“I do not believe so.” Thranduil answered, looking down at his list. “I believe we have accomplished all we can for today. At a later time, we will write copies of our invitation with the terms and conditions and they can be signed upon our return.”

“Terms and conditions?” Hilda asked him.

“Yes. Should there be any problems with or amongst your people, there will legal proof of my authority to settle disputes, and the guarantee that they, as guests of the Woodland Realm, are entitled to its protection, as well.” Thranduil gazed at Percy, “I am sure Galion has told you that things like this always need to be recorded and kept for future reference.”

“Aye, he has. As much as can be spelled out in paper and ink, makes things clear and protects everybody, even if it means my hand will cramp, at times. Don’t worry; I’m getting used to it.” Percy said.

Bard had no argument for this. “You’re absolutely right.  They'll need to know what courtesies they need to observe there, and I expect them to follow it.” To Hilda, he said,  “I’ll make my final decision once I see the place, but let the rumor spread by word of mouth, to help them get used to this idea. I don’t want to shock them with it.

“This should be made clear: should I decide they are definitely going, there will be no exceptions, so don’t let anyone come to you and try to argue they want to stay. It’s for their safety, and I won’t compromise on that.  The rumor mill hould give them plenty of time to get ready for the separation." Bard said. Now, unless you two can think of anything, I think we’re done.

“I propose we all meet again, after our return, to finalize the details,” requested the Elvenking.

“Sounds grand.” Bard agreed, as the older couple made ready to leave, and Percy was helping his wife into her coat.

Percy and Hilda almost made it to the entrance, before Hilda suddenly turned around and came back to the table, kissing Bard on the cheek. “I’m happy for you both.” She smiled brightly. And before anyone had a chance to react, she went over to Thranduil and kissed his cheek as well. “I’m happy for you too. You both needed someone, and I can think of no better for our boy, there. Take good care of him, please.”

Thranduil, managed to quickly recover and kiss her hand. “Thank you, Lady Hilda. I shall do my best to make him happy.” She smiled down at him, and looked at Bard, who was blushing furiously.

Then she went and joined Percy, who wasn’t surprised at all. Just before they walked through the open tent flap, she turned again to look at the Elvenking, with a friendly but determined look, her hands on her hips.

“Just one more thing, Thranduil: King or no, if you hurt our Bard, I’ll cut your dick off.”

With that, she flounced out of the tent, and into the afternoon sun.

 

***************

 

After Hilda left, after Bard stopped sputtering and apologizing, and after Thranduil finally, _finally_ stopped laughing, the Elvenking got up from his chair and went to kiss the Bowman.

Pulling Bard into his arms, Thranduil told him, “I know how much it will hurt you this winter, _Meleth nîn_. I am sorry I could not think of a better solution.”

Bard buried his nose in the crook of Thranduil’s neck and sighed. “I know. I feel stupid that I can’t come up with anything better, either. I feel stupid for even thinking we all could stay here –“

Thranduil pulled away and put Bard’s face in his hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “Please, do not say things like that! You have only been a King for weeks, Bard! How could you possibly know everything there is to know about things like this? This is why I am here to help you. Even if you did not love me, I would _still_ help you, do you understand? You are not alone in this, so I will not allow you to berate yourself.”

Bard nodded. “You’re right. It’s a waste of time and energy I don’t have to spare. It’s just that... I’ve never been away from them. It will be so –“  His voice broke, and he closed his eyes.  He couldn't make the words come out.  

He enveloped the Bowman into his arms once again, “It will be all right. We will do this, and we will do our best. Do not forget, I will be separated from you, _Meleth nîn_ , and it will be agony.  I have just found you, after so long; I have just come to love you, and I do not want to leave you!”

Bard swallowed a couple of times into his neck, unable to speak.

They held each other tightly for several minutes, then Thranduil kissed his Bard, until their lips parted, and their tongues did a delightful dance, meeting each other with equal urgency and intensity. Soon, they were moaning softly, and his hands were running through Bard’s thick, unruly curls, while Bard grabbed him by the hips, bringing them closer.

Thranduil took the King of Dale by the hand and led them into his bedchamber, where he turned to Bard, his eyes dark with desire. He undid the front of his outer robes, leaving his tunic and leggings in view, then went to Bard and undid his leggings and smallclothes, while the Bowman quickly unlaced him.

As Thranduil plunged his hand into Bard’s pants, and took hold of his thick cock, the Bowman closed his eyes and groaned, “Oh, yeah…” and began to hiss and gasp. At the same time, Thranduil felt a rough calloused hand around his member that was already flushed deep pink with its hardness. Bard took his hand and ran it over the tip, wet the ball of his thumb with precum, and stroked the underside of the tip of the Elf’s cock, causing it, and him, to jerk with pleasure, and cry out. To Bard's delight, Thranduil began teasing him in the exact same way.

Soon, they were thrusting into each other’s hands, kissing and mouthing each other’s neck and ears, making beautiful throaty noises. Even though Bard was almost delirious with pleasure, he remembered what his Elvenking liked, and he ran his tongue up to the tip of Thranduil’s ear and began to nip and suck on it, loving the cries and grunts and hard thrusts it elicited from him. They were both thrusting into each other’s hands, and while the Elf had his head on Bard’s shoulder, he groaned and cried out loudly, then bit Bard where his shoulder met his neck as he came. This mixture of pleasure and pain sent Bard soaring to his peak, and he had to let go of Thranduil’s ear, as he buried his forehead into Thranduil’s neck and thrust through his release, gasping for breath.

After they calmed a bit, they still stood there, holding each other up, holding on to each other in a gesture of closeness and intimacy that neither one wanted to let go of. Thranduil just sank into the warmth, and touches that he'd only rediscovered, after countless years of hunger and want. His body, too, was beginning to heal, from the centuries of loneliness; it was coming alive again, just like his heart. They both loved this just as much as the physical release. They both loved the little universe that was just the two of them.

After a long, long while. Bard nodded into Thranduil’s shoulder, and they slowly drew back from each other, looking into each other’s eyes. Then, reluctantly, Thranduil let go of him, and they cleaned each other off, and straightened their clothes again.

They went back out into the meeting area, settled down and finished up their work for the day.

Thranduil had been helping Bard with strategies to negotiate with the Dwarves, and telling him what he knew about their basic nature. Mithrandir would be meeting with the two of them tomorrow to give further insight. Thranduil wanted his Bowman to be well-prepared, as he will be standing on his own in the meetings, to avoid the appearance of favoritism between the Kingdoms.

Once that business was finished, they discussed the children. They agreed they wanted the children to feel familiar and comfortable with Thranduil, so they decided that they all would dine together as much as possible, before they left for the winter. It would also help them to cope with the long separation, if they felt closer to the Thranduil. Sigrid, Bain and Tilda were going to be given rooms in the Royal Apartments, next to his chambers, he told Bard, which made their father feel a little bit better.

Soon, it was time for Bard to collect his children and bring them to his tent. With a kiss, or several, as it turned out, he left to get them.

Tauriel seemed a bit uncomfortable to be seated with the rest of the family at first, so the Kings wisely let her be.  She smiled at Galion when he entered with a triumphant look on his face. Hilda given him her recipe for Fish Pie (which was one of the children’s favorites).  When Galion announce that there would be honey-cakes for dessert, Tilda clapped her hands in delight.

As they ate, Thranduil enjoyed listening to Bard and his children, as they talked about their day.  Sigrid was telling them about about helping in the  Healing Tent, and she would now be doing this for a few hours each day.

“It was great!  I helped to change sheets and fluff pillows, and empty privy pans.” At this, Tilda’s nose wrinkled in disgust, but Sigrid didn’t care; she was too excited. “I also learned how to grind up Willow Bark, and make it into a tea. It helps with the pain, so I’ll be doing a lot of that.” She turned to Thranduil. “Thank you again, for the book on herbs you gave me. Elénaril, the one who will be training me, said it was the best. She said that everyone needs to start with mixing the herbs and potions.”

“I am glad you will find it useful. Elénaril is an excellent teacher, and she is also correct in that the first thing a good healer must learn is her medicines. In my Kingdom, she works closely with the Chief Healer, and he has much confidence in her. She is charged with training all my Guard, who must be prepared to administer aid while out on patrol. This has helped to save many lives.” Thranduil smiled down at her. She was a lovely girl, and looked little like Bard, although he could see she had his chin. If, as Bard told him, she truly looked like Mattie, it was not hard to see why he fell in love with her. “Did you find anything you saw in the Healing Tent disagreeable?”

“Not so far. I’ve never been squeamish, which is good, because Da doesn’t like the sight of blood; it makes him sick to his stomach.” Sigrid giggled, which made all the kids laugh at their father.

“Oh, she’s not fibbing!” Bain added. “Da has no problem when we get colds or anything like that, but he’s useless if there’s any blood. If I get a fish hook stuck in my finger or something, he has to send me to Hilda, if Sigrid isn’t around. Otherwise he’d be hanging over the railing outside our house!"

Thranduil couldn’t help but laugh, and Tauriel and the children joined in.

That’s not fair!” Bard raiders his eyebrows. “I don’t _always_ get sick. I just can’t stand blood on any of you three.”

“But what about the time that you and Uncle Percy were fishing, and Percy cut his hand? He told us how you jumped to the side of the boat so fast, it nearly capsized!” Bain retorted.

This made the poor Elvenking cough on his wine. Bard gave him a filthy look, which only encouraged the children to laugh harder.

“I don’t see why you have to pick on your poor Da,” Bard attempted to regain a bit of his dignity, “If you recall, I recently led our people in some sort of Battle to save a certain city, and I managed to keep my stomach contents.”

Sigrid thought about that. “That doesn’t count.  You were protecting us, and you were moving so fast, you never had a chance to think about it.”  She made a subtle gesture toward Tilda, and the subject of the Battle was dropped.

Bard shrugged and rolled his eyes. “All I know is I’d be a terrible healer, so I’m leaving that to you, Darling.”

Thranduil took pity on Bard and changed the subject. He turned to Bain, “Would you like to tell us what your day was like? I am told you started training with Tauriel.”

Bain lit up. “Yeah! She showed me some basic moves and forms. I’m not allowed to actually fight with anyone, until I know all my forms and can do them really fast. She said I can’t go on to the next step until the first one is second nature.”

“She is correct, you know,” the Elvenking smiled at his foster-daughter.  “Even now, I go through all my forms when I practice. If you want to be a good fighter, you must never forget how important they are. It is one thing to learn them, and work with someone you like, but they must become so instinctive and fast, that you don’t think about it. This could save your life one day. Remember that, when practice becomes boring.  A well-trained soldier does not waste his energy with sloppy movements.”

“I’ll remember.” Bain promised.

Thranduil smiled down at the little girl next to him. Tilda had a good appetite this evening, and her smile seemed genuine, not forced. “Tilda, I see you have changed Charlotte’s clothing. She looks nice.”

“She says to tell you thank you for giving her new hair.” She beamed up at him.

“Please tell her she is most welcome. The Tailor’s Guild in my Kingdom worked hard to make her so beautiful, so I will pass along her compliments. I’m glad you like it, too.

When they first came in, Tilda had rushed over to Thranduil and wrapped her arms around his legs, and insisted that Charlotte wanted to sit next to him at dinner.  Of course, Thranduil agreed and even asked if Tilda would like to share the chair with her, and Tilda said she would like that, thank you very much.

He looked over at his husband-to-be and exchanged a smile, at all this. Tauriel and the others were thrilled Tilda was starting to feel better.

When the honey cakes were passed out, they ate dessert, Bain asked Thranduil, “You said there are different sorts of Elves. How many?”

“There are several types of Elven folk, and countless stories about them. Would you like to hear one?”

All the children nodded.

“After we finish with our meal, I would be happy to tell you one or two of them. There are also many stories of friendships between Elves and Men, if you would like to hear about this, as well.”

Bard, along with the children, said yes to that.

Once the dishes were cleared, Bard, Thranduil, and Tauriel seated themselves in the cushioned chairs with the children sitting on the floor in front of them.

“Well, it seems best to start at the beginning, do you not think? You know the story of Elu Ilúvitar, the father of all, and I you are familiar with the Vala, Ulmo, Lord of the Seas, am I correct?”

“I know about him and some of the other ones, but not all of them.” Bain said.

“There’s Varda and Manwë, and they’re married, right?” Sigrid asked. “Then Yavanna, and her husband…I can’t remember his name…”

“His name is Aulë, but the Dwarves call him “Mahal.” They revere him especially. Do you know why this is?”

They shook their heads.

“The reason for this was because Aulë himself made the Dwarves. They are the oldest race on Middle Earth, even before the Elves. They are also the only race made by a Vala. All the others were created by Eru.”

”Why?” Tilda asked.

”Aulë was impatient waiting for Eru to create his Children.  He wanted children of his own to teach and to share his love of Arda. He formed his Dwarves out of stone, and loved them and taught them their language. He was afraid that Morgoth, would corrupt them, so he made them able to resist domination by others, and to be independent and stubborn. Aulë also taught the Dwarves his skills in craftsmanship that their race is now famous for.

“Eru Ilúvitar saw this and was displeased, as this was not his plan for Arda. Aulë repented, and thought that he should destroy his beloved children, but Eru stopped him, because He understood Aüle did not rebel against him; his actions were borne from his deep love for this world. In his kindness, our Creator adopted them, and told Aulë the Dwarves will be put into a deep sleep, to be woken after his own Children were created. In the fullness of time,the Elves, then Men were made, and all were asleep for a long time, while Arda was bathed in darkness.

“The Elves were the first to wake up, and the first thing they saw were the stars, which is why we all love and revere them to this day. So you see, we Elves were the first race to live on Middle Earth, but we were not the first created.”

“How did the Elves get along with the Dwarves? Did they like them?” Tilda asked.

“Most of the time they did not, I’m sorry to say.  But there were periods of time, when Elves and the Dwarves were friends, and that is always good, do you not agree?”

She nodded her head at him. “I think so. Bofur is my friend. I like him.”

“I am told he has been kind to you all.  Bofur has been kind to Tauriel, too, and that makes me happy.  I also hope that you are making friends with the Elves as well,” he smiled at her, “because we all like you, too.”

She smiled back at him. “I like Tauriel a lot. Daeron is nice, and so is Tura...  Tur...”

”Turamarth?”

Yeah, him.” Tilda nodded and continued her list.. “And you fixed Charlotte and gave her back to me, so you’re nice, and there are Elves that play with us in the Children’s Tent. And Galion cooks.”

”Strictly speaking, Galion does not do the actual cooking, Little Bean.” Bard winked at her.

“But he makes sure it’s good!” She argued. “And he brings it when it’s hot and there’s always enough.  That’s a big job.”

”You are absolutely right, _Tithen Pen.”_ Thranduil smiled down at her.

“I have a question.” Bain sat up straight. “Why would the Elves and the Dwarves fight so much?”

“The biggest reasons, Elves and Dwarves have different talents and temperaments, and sometimes we forget to make allowances. There have been other reasons, which happened a long time ago, and you will hear the stories, someday. Some Elves and Dwarves still hold on to the grudges of their ancestors, and use it as an excuse to remain hostile.” Thranduil then asked the boy, “Someday, you will be the ruler of Dale. What is your opinion on that?”

The boy sat and thought for a moment. “If were something really terrible, it would be hard, but if it was a long time ago, doesn’t it seem stupid to be mad at someone for something their Great-great-great-great-Grandfather did?”

“And what would you do,” Thranduil asked, “if someone were mad at _you_ for something they told you King Girion had done?”

“I guess I'd just tell them that it’s past, and nothing could be done about it. I didn’t do those terrible things myself, and they should try to find out what _I think.”_

“Also, a wise answer. Then what would you do?” 

“I would ask them to just think on what’s happening in the present, and try to fix what I could today." Bain said.

“Excellent!” Both Thranduil and Bard were smiling at him. “Bain, many will tell you this attitude is too simplistic, that things are much more complicated.  Sadly, that will be true.  But remember this, my young Prince: keep your ideals as simple as possible. Decide what your values and principles will be, and _**never**  _stray from them.   If you refuse compromise what you honestly believe to be honorable, you will be a good ruler.”

“That’ll be hard sometimes,” Bain mused.

”There will be countless times when you must choose between what is right, and what is easy.”

 “That’s true for everyone, whether they be a King, or not.” Bard added, “Princesses have to learn that, too.” He looked at the girls, and winked.

Tilda got up and climbed on Bard’s lap. “What will be my job, Da?”

“Right now, your job is to be good, to learn your letters and help where you can. You’re still a little girl, so you are allowed to play and have fun, but you must always be polite and kind,” her Da told her.

“But I was doing all that before!” Tilda frowned. “Bain is going to be King, and Sigrid is going to be a Healer, and I’m not anything but a little girl! I want a _real job_  like a Princess.” Her eyes were beginning to water, and her lower lip trembled. “I’m not a baby, Da!”

“Tilda, would you be willing to do something for me?” Thranduil coun’t stand seeing her distress.  “I was going to ask Tauriel, but I think this is something that only a child your age could do.  Would you come here please, so I can tell you about it?”

Tilda got off her Da’s lap, and went to stand before Thranduil who stood up.  “Just a moment, My Lady, I must do this from my throne.” He got up from the cushioned armchair, and went into his sleeping area to put his mithril crown upon his head. Then he walked over to his temporary throne and sat down with a regal attitude. He made a show of adjusting his robes, then gestured to Tilda. “Please, come before me, _Tithen Pen_ , if you would.”

“I am going to give you an official order,” he instructed, “and you must always remember this: when a King gives an order, the person must stand in front of him straight and tall, so would you do that, please?”

The little girl before him stood at attention, and of the corner of his eye, he saw Tauriel smile, and Bard put his hand on his chin.  

 “Oh, wait!” and she quickly turned and handed Charlotte to Sigrid for safekeeping, and went back to her former posture, with her head up and her arms at her sides, chest out, paying close attention. Now Bard was holding his fingers over his mouth, and Sigrid was grinning.

“Okay, I’m ready!” She said eagerly to Thranduil, who could only keep a straight and serious face, because he had thousands of years of practice. It helped that this was something Thranduil was going to ask about anyway.

“Tilda, Daughter of Bard, Princess of Dale, I hereby request, with the consent of your King, of course, to make sure that child in Dale has toys of their own to play with.”

Tilda looked disappointed, so Thranduil held up his hand, “Please hear me out, My Lady, and then you may decide if you wish to carry out this commission, is this agreeable?” Tilda considered for a moment and decided that was fair, so she said yes.

“I request that you to ask Tauriel to help you make a list, of what each one’s favorite toy might be, what they would like, both the boys and the girls, and present it to me. Many in the Woodland Realm have been asking to make things for the children of Dale, but they do not know how many, or what they like to play with. There are toys that the Dwarves could make for them as well, and you would be in charge of asking Master Bofur to help you with that. I will expect regular reports of the progress you are making, if you decide accept.”

Tilda looked at him, still deciding.

“This is an important task, because, as you know, many of your friends are sad, are they not?” He asked her, with no hint of condescension.

“Some of them don’t have Mams or Das anymore, and they miss them."

“Precisely my point. It is a Princess’s job to help her people, is it not?"

Again, Tilda nodded her head.

“Do you not think that helping the children of Dale feel better, is serving her people?  My Healers tell me that when a human child is sad, it can make him or her more apt to get sick. So, we need to help these children to be happier, so they might be healthier. Your Da wants all of the children of his Kingdom to be healthy, not just you three, do you understand?”

Tilda considered this for a moment. “So, this would be a _really_ important job?”

“Yes, it would be. Do you know why?”

“I think so. I was really sad when I didn’t have Charlotte, and I was happy when you gave her back to me. All the extra clothes are nice too. So, we need to make the other kids feel better too. If they are really sad, they could get sick. Right, Da?”

Bard, smiling, “Yes, Little Bean; we need to help them feel happier.”

“So, Lady Tilda, would you accept this Very Important Commission on behalf of myself, and your King?” Thranduil asked, regally.

“What does ‘commission’ mean?”

“Commission means, as you put it, a really important job.” Thranduil replied. “So, do you understand and accept, My Lady?”

Bard hid his smile when Tilda formally curtsied, and said, “Yes, Lord Thrandool, I accept.” Then she retrieved Charlotte from her older sister, and crawled into the Elvenking’s lap.

 

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Tithen Pen -_ Little One


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys get encouragement and approval from one of the Bardlings, and they discuss and their concerns and hopes for the future. They also discover more ways to please each other. Some funny antics ensue.
> 
> This chapter earns another "E" rating. Enjoy!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Sixteen is here and I hope you enjoy it. For readers from the USA, I hope you enjoyed the 4th of July, as best as we all can, during these "interesting" times...
> 
> Lately, I've been thinking about Barduil stories that are Art-themed. There are many:  
> [lazy_bird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_bird/pseuds/lazy_bird) has a sweet tale called [Blooming Season](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7196555), a beautifully written story about rediscovering love between a Florist and an Artist, who needs a change. 
> 
> [magicalmagic's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalmagic/pseuds/magicalmagic) expressive story, called [Love Rekindled](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7365598) is beautifully written and unique. 
> 
> And, of course, [ofplanet_earth,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth) a favorite writer of mine, has several to choose from! There is [Abstraction,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5803795) and wonderful 2-part story nestled among the "30 Days of Barduil" collection: [Discontent,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5285867) and [Two Chairs.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5293364) I mentioned the ofplanet_earth's series [Muses](http://archiveofourown.org/series/356012), in Chapter 11 of this story, but it's so good, it bears repeating.
> 
> Please, eone, enjoy your summer, and, if you have any other "Arty" Barduil's I haven't mentioned, please list them in the comments! I'd love to see them!

 

 

“Da?” Bard’s oldest inquired.

They had just left Thranduil’s tent, accompanied by Daeron and Tauriel, and were making their way back to get ready for bed. Tauriel was walking ahead with Tilda, who was busy telling the Red-haired Elf all about her Very Important Commission, and what was needed. Tauriel was attentive, and listened carefully, smiling broadly at the little girl, as she held her hand. Behind Bard, Bain was beside Daeron, and they were chatting about the boy’s training.

“Yes, Darling? What is it?” he asked Sigrid, who was looking up at him with a suspicious face.

“Do you like King Thranduil?”

 _Here we go_ , he thought, with an inner smile. “Yes, I do. Do **_you_** like him?”

“Aye.. And not just because he gave me those books. He was mean at first, but he isn’t anymore. He’s nice to all of us.”

“That he is, darling. I think he likes you kids, too.”

“Well, he has to, doesn’t he? I’m your daughter.” Sigrid was baiting him, and he had no desire to discuss this while they were out in public, so she was just going to have wait. Tauriel had been right; she _knows._

“Do you think he treats you like he has to like you?” Bard regarded her with a raised eyebrow and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

Sigrid was silent for a moment. “No. I don’t think he does. He likes us because we are us, I guess. I think he would like you even if you weren’t a King. Which you weren’t up until a month ago.” She smirked up at him.

“Well, thank you. I’m likeable, am I?”

“Well, I think so. And Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil, love you, so you must be all right.”

Bard couldn’t help but laugh. “What would you do if Auntie Hil didn’t like me? Go live with her?”

“Of course,” she deadpanned, “and I would take Bain and Tilda too. If Auntie Hil decides you’re no good, then I’d have to.”

“Then I’ll make sure to stay on her good side. I wouldn’t want to live out my life, knocking around in that big castle all alone.”

Sigrid became thoughtful. “Da?” She leaned her head on his arm as they walked.

“What, Darling?”

“I’m glad you’re not alone anymore.”

Bard didn’t have a chance to respond, thank goodness, because they arrived at his tent, and the guards were opening the flap to let them in. Tilda asked if she could go to Tauriel’s tent to talk to her some more.

“If that’s all right with her, and only for a short while; you need to get washed and into bed soon, yeah?”

“She is welcome to join me,” the Elf assured him.  “I will make sure to bring her back in time, My Lord.” Tauriel assured him.

“Go have fun, Beanie.” He kissed her hair, before Tilda trotted off with her Elf guard.

“Bain, how about starting to get ready for your bath, yeah?”

Bain rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sweat that much, Da! I don’t need to wash, do I?”

“Go. The tub’s being filled right now.”

Once Bain was splashing around in the bath, Sigrid sat down with Bard at the table, and looked at him expectantly.

“What is it now?”

“Like I told you, Da. I’m glad you’re not alone anymore.” Sigrid took his hand. “Mam has been gone for a long time, and she’d want you to be happy. _We_ want you to be happy.”

Bard wasn’t going to insult her by pretending not to know what she was talking about. He put his other hand over hers. “Your opinion means a lot to me. So do Bain and Tilda’s. I want you to be happy, too."

“I think he’s good for you, you’re good for him. He acted mean and snobby when he first came to Dale, but he’s changed so much. Maybe he was just lonely. Some people act that way when they’re unhappy. You told me a while back, after you started working for him, that his wife died, too, yeah?”

“I did, didn’t I? His wife died a long time ago.” He smirked, “He still misses her, just like I miss your Mam. He then looked at her seriously. “You know you children will always come first, don’t you? If you three aren’t comfortable, I couldn’t-“

“It’s all right, Da. Truly. I know you’d never do anything to make us unhappy, and I think he’ll be good to us, so you don’t need to worry.  Tilda adores him, and he seems to feel the same way about her.”

“What do you think of him?”

“I really like him, Da. When he talks to me, he seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.  You don’t have to worry about Bain, either. He hero-worships him. He might end up loving Thranduil more than he loves you!”

Bard squeezed her hand and grinned. “I’ll just bet he would. But this would mean big changes in our family:  Tauriel would be your sister, and Legolas would be your new brother, too. It was always just the four of us, before this.”

“No, it wasn’t, Da. There was Uncle Percy, and Auntie Hil, and they are family, too. We already know how to include others we love. Our lives are different now, anyway, and we’re adjusting, don’t you think?”

Sigrid make perfect sense, as usual. “Aye,” he kissed her fingers. “We are at that.”

“Does Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil know?”

Bard nodded. “Auntie Hil guessed. I wasn’t going to say anything to them, until I spoke with you kids first. But, you know how she is; nothing gets past her. She approves, and so does Percy.

“That’s settled, then. Auntie Hil wouldn’t let anybody near you if she thought it would hurt us; Uncle Percy wouldn’t either. They wouldn’t care that Thranduil’s a King, and it started a war.” She looked at him earnestly. “It really will be all right, Da.”

Bard’s heart swelled with hope and happiness as he smiled at his oldest daughter. It was one thing to know he and Thranduil loved each other. To blend into one big Family was what they both truly wanted. not even Mattie’s, Mírelen’s,or even the Valar’s consent would mean anything if his children couldn’t live with this.

“Do you love him, Da?” She asked him. “Because I can see he’s in love with you.”

“Very much. We want to marry soon.”

“How would that work, exactly?” She asked him.

“Uh...” The last thing in the world he wanted to do was explain Elven sexuality. “Well -“

“I mean, he works in his Kingdom, and you have to be here.  Where would we live?”

 _Oh, thank Ulmo and the Stars_.  “We’ll just have to go back and forth between Kingdoms, and we’ll be separated some of the time; there’s no avoiding that. I won’t let Dale be neglected any more than Thranduil will allow the Woodland Realm to be. And wevwon’t be ruling together: Thranduil will be in charge of his own Realm, and I’ll look after mine.”

“That makes sense. Do you think the Dwarves will get mad and think you’re working together?”

“Well, we are, but not in the way they might think. I’ll have to prove to them I’m acting for Dale’s interests alone. How Thranduil wants to handle his relationship with them, is his own concern. I need you not to speak about this until after we’re done negotiating with the Dwarves and everything is signed, can you please do that? Our news could complicate things. In fact, don’t speak of it, even then. Neither one of us wants any fuss.”

“I won’t say anything, I promise. I’m glad the elves will be here for a while.  That means Thranduil can stay, because you won’t be able to leave Dale for a while.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll work it out.”

Bard sighed. He was going to have to tell them sooner or later, and it might be easier if he told Sigrid first. “Sigrid, there’s something I need to talk to you about, before Tilda gets back, and Bain gets out of the tub.”

Sigrid looked worried. “What’s wrong, Da? What is it?”

“You know winter’s coming, yeah? Well, Thranduil wants you, and the rest of the children to come and stay with them for the colder months. He wants the women, and the sick to come, too. I hate it. I do. But he’s right. We’re just not ready to keep everyone warm and safe, and a tent is no place for a child all winter long.” This was harder than he thought. “I don’t want to send you away, and the thought of -“ He swallowed. “I just can’t take a chance on any of you getting sick, or worse, but we can’t take care of you all properly. Not yet.”

Sigrid sat for a moment. “It will only be for this winter, right? Auntie Hil will be there, too?”

“Yes. In fact, I also need to tell you kids I’ll be leaving with Thranduil next week, for about four days. He’s taking me back to the Realm for their memorial services for the families, and I want to see the Palace for myself. When you do leave, I want to come with you all to help you get settled, then I’ll come back. I hope to visit, weather permitting. But I don’t know if I can. It’s supposed to be bitter cold.” Bard looked down at the table, feeling miserable.

Sigrid was quick to try to comfort him. “I hate the idea of not being with you. We’ve always been together. But, I think you’re right, Da. We’ll all miss you, but I’ll try to help with Tilda, and Bain, and we’ll just do it. Having Auntie Hil there will help a lot. I can’t see any other way, either.” She looked at his face, and Bard must have looked stricken, because she got up and hugged him. “Don’t worry, Da. We’ll send you lots of letters, and Tilda will draw you pictures. You can write us too, and let us know how it is going here, all right?”

“I keep asking you how you got so smart, but I already know.” He looked up at her. I’ll always love your Ma, Sigrid. She meant the world to me. Thranduil still loves his wife, and neither one of us expect that to stop, and we’d never expect you children to forget her. Do you understand? She was your mother, and she always will be.” He kissed her hand. “And, my dear girl, as long as you walk on Middle Earth, everyone will know and see for themselves how beautiful and wonderful she was.”  
Sigrid gave him a sweet smile. “There a bit of you in me, too, don’t forget.”

“Thank goodness for you it wasn’t my homely face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. Ma, did call you her ‘handsome man’ for nothing.” She told him, seriously. “I think Mam would like Thranduil. She’d want this for us.”

“I think you’re right, Darling.”  Someday, when the time was right, he would tell her of seeing his Mattie, of how she pushed him towards love and a new life. He would tell all of them.  “Now, let me get Bain out of the water before his fingers get wrinkly, and can you go get Tilda?” He stood up, and kissed her forehead.

“Yes, Da.” She put on her coat and turned to leave, then she looked at him and said, “Once you get Bain into his sleeping clothes, why don’t you go see Thranduil? I can get Tilda into her bath and to bed, and Tauriel can stay with us. You know she loves it here. Besides, she’s been telling us some stories Galion taught her when she was small. Tilda looks forward to them.”

“Ah. So, you’re trying to get rid of me? Your poor Da, thrown over for a couple of Elven tales.”

Sigrid smirked, “I was hoping it wouldn’t be obvious, but Tauriel’s more interesting than you.” Then Sigrid asked, “Will she be coming with us? This winter, I mean.”

“No, I’m afraid not, and please don’t ask her why, love. That’s between her and Thranduil. I’m glad you said mentioned Tauriel, though; I have an idea and need to check with him. In the meantime, please keep this to yourself.”

“Sure, Da.  I’m sure he wants to see you, too.  Make sure you tell him we give our blessing.”

”I will, Darling.”

After kissing them all good night, he left again. He felt a little better about the winter, and much better about the children accepting Thranduil. He was hopeful, and excited, and he just wanted to be with his Elf.

He entered Thranduil’s tent, and saw he was standing, facing away from him, looking at some papers. He went up behind him, and put his arms around him.

“I was just thinking about you,” Thranduil said, as he pulled Bard’s arms tighter around him, leaning head back. “In fact, I am always thinking about you, _Meleth nîn.”_ He leaned his head to the side, as Bard moved his hair so he could kiss his neck. “Mmmm… That feels good.”

“You missed me, yeah? Already?”

“I miss you any time you are not with me.”

“I know exactly how you feel.” Bard whispered, in between kisses, then nibbled on his earlobe.

Thranduil turned around and, taking Bard’s face in his hands, kissed his mouth, seeking entrance, which he was granted, and their tongues danced together, and their kisses grew more intense.

Kissing Thranduil, how they were together, was so different than with his Mattie. Obviously, much of it was because Mattie was a woman, and Thranduil was Elf, but it was more than that. When he was with Mattie, it was _softer_ , somehow...that was it. She was softer, curvier, and it brought out a gentle, protective passion in him, and he had relished it. With Thranduil, it was harder, wilder, more forceful, and he loved that too.

Thranduil’s mouth was more insistent, demanding, and Bard was matching his efforts easily as the kisses became something they both became lost in. When they were like this, Bard loved how he could close his eyes, and make the world disappear.  Here, there was only Thranduil, and his warmth, his strength, his hands, just _him_. He was drowning in this Elf and it was a marvelous gift.

Bard, completely aroused, broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.  “Come with me.  Now.”  He grabbed Thranduil’s hand, and dragged him to the sleeping chamber.

Thranduil followed him, grinning. “Didn’t we just satisfy each other this afternoon, _Meleth nîn?”_

“No. When it comes to being with you, I could ever get enough. And I am not going back to my children with _this_ in my pants!”

The Elvenking laughed, then pushed Bard until the back of his knees hit the bed, and he shoved him down roughly. Quickly, he shed his robe and his tunic, and straddled the Bowman, kissing him thoroughly, his icy white-blonde hair forming a curtain that surrounded them. Thranduil was nipping his lips, sucking on his earlobes, and kissing each side of the neck, up and down, as their hips and ground together, back and forth, and up and down. _Oh, Valar, yes…_

Bard ran his hands through that silky blonde hair, over that smooth chest, and clutched at the strong muscles of his back, as their kisses became more insistent, demanding. Then he grabbed onto Thranduil’s middle, and flipped them over, with Bard on top, and between the Elf’s legs. He pulled them to the middle of the bed, and started to nip and lick on one of Thranduil’s nipples, and pinching the other one, roughly. The Elvenking fisted his hands in Bard’s hair, and threw his head back, eyes closed, gasped and let out a loud moan. Bard loved feeling the sound vibrate through him. He had to stop, otherwise he would come, and it wasn’t what he wanted yet, not to mention having to explain the stain on his leggings to his curious children… He sat up, kneeling between Thranduil’s legs, put his knees on his thighs, panting. “Oh, love; do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leered down at his beautiful, pale Elvenking.

“I can feel what I do to you. I am in the same predicament.” Thranduil sat up and kissed him, again.

Bard looked into his beautiful grey eyes, then gathered him into his arms. They just held each other for a few moments.

“I’ve been half-dead for so long, it seemed normal, Thranduil. I was just existing, making do, never daring to hope. If you could know what it’s like for me to not be feel alone inside…” Bard swallowed.

“I feel the same, _Meleth nîn_. Does it frighten you, Bard?” Thranduil whispered into his neck.

“Yes, but only because I never want to lose love again, and be forced to go back to the way I was. I can’t go back to being alone again. I don’t think I could survive it, Thranduil.” He whispered into the Elf’s neck. “I love you so much.” He hugged his Elf a bit tighter.

“You will never have to. And neither will I. The Valar would not have gone to such great efforts unless they knew we would never part. I believe this, do you not as well?” He smiled up at Bard. “And soon, we will be joined in marriage, and,” he put his hand on Bard’s heart. “I promise, you will never feel empty again.” He pulled Bard’s face down and started to kiss him again, only this time it was soft, and tender.

“Hmmm…. Are you referring to your ‘Elf thing?’” He said, between kisses.

“Oh, yes…” Thranduil kissed him roughly, then.

Before Bard knew what was happening, Bard found himself on his back, tunic off, with the Elf unlacing his leggings, and pushing them down past his hips. Thranduil moved up and kissed his mouth with a probing tongue, then this neck, his collarbone, and came to rest on one of his nipples, where he suckled hard and rubbed the other between his fingers, as Bard had done to him earlier. “Aah! Mmmh!” He said between gasps. “I see turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?”

Thranduil, letting go of the nipple, look up and smirked. “If you would like, I will stop.” He offered, raising one eyebrow.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Bard gasped.

“As you wish, My King.”

Thranduil kissed his way down to his stomach, then to his navel, where he nuzzled the line of hair from his navel to his cock, tickling Bard, with his nose. “I love this on you.” He hummed, as he slowly kissed down to his groin, his fingers tracing the lines of his hips, touching and kissing everything but his cock, teasing him. “You are beautiful, Bard.” He whispered, before he finally turned his attention to Bard’s hard length.

Bard propped himself up on his elbows to watch, as Thranduil ran his tongue back and forth along the underside of his length, causing Bard to spew filthy words at him, before the Elf took him into his mouth, and sucked him hard. Then he couldn’t watch anymore, as his arms, his whole body trembled, and he collapsed into the pillow, groaning and murmuring, “Oh, fuck, Thranduil… Oh…” His hips jerked up; he couldn’t help it, and he felt Thranduil’s arm across his hip, holding him down, as he worked him to almost painful hardness, up and down, then using his hand to pleasure him, as he used his tongue on the head of his cock, to tease him into near insanity. He made feral noises, grasping at the blankets, at Thranduil’s head, and finally his hands found the arm across his hips and squeezed it, as Thranduil’s hot mouth sucked on him, hard, his cheeks hollowing with his efforts. He couldn’t stop the loud growls from coming out, and he didn’t care. Thranduil hummed, and if he loved the vibrations from his low voice before, it was _nothing_ compared to this. _Oh, Valar…_ “That’s so fucking good… So good…”

This was beyond bliss, and from the energy gathering in his belly and the base of his spine, it was only going to get better… Thranduil was still sucking on the head, flicking his tongue underneath and across his slit, using his other hand to massage his balls. Even though his hips were being held down, he still jerked up, as every muscle in his body became rigid. He arched his back, mouth open, gasping for air, feeling little bolts of lightning tingle all through him.

“ _MMMGH!”_   He came hard, with a loud cry, saying the Elf’s name, digging his nails into Thranduil’s arm and shoulder, and he was thanking the stars and all the Valar for bringing him love again.

 

***************

 

Thranduil took in everything his Bowman gave him, then continued to suck on him, through all the aftershocks of his orgasm, until he was soft again. He kissed the indentation of muscle between his belly and his hips, then kissed his way back up to his lover’s mouth. Bard was becoming calmer, and he looked so beautiful, laying on his bed beneath him, eyes closed, still helpless to do anything but breath heavily, the look of ecstasy still on his face. He loved knowing he could do this to him. This wonderful man had re-entered his life, swept away his loneliness, and soothed the empty, hollow hurt that he had been forced to live with. He lay down beside him, facing him, and ran his fingers over Bard’s face.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Bard asked him, eyes still closed, smiling, as long, pale fingers lightly outlined his lips.

“You have enjoyed yourself a bit more, do you not think?”

Bard snickered. “Yep. Won’t argue with that.” He turned on his side to face Thranduil. “You Elves are good at that.” He grinned.

“I am glad you think so. I would not know how other Elves do this. I only know what I like.”

“I absolutely like what you like.” Bard smiled, his eyes closed again, and hummed with satisfaction. He opened them again, and those enchanting brown-green eyes looked into his grey ones, again. “So…you’ve never done that before, then.”

“No.”

“Are you serious? Thranduil, if this was only your first effort, when you get some more practice, you might just kill me!” Bard exclaimed. “Holy shit! I couldn’t believe how hard you made me come. I don’t think my legs could support me right now.”

Thranduil laughed. “I look forward to the practice.”

“My King, that was the best blow job I’ve ever had.” Bard laughed. “It’s hard to imagine you’re that old, and have had no experience with it.”

“Elves approach these things differently than Men do, remember?”

“Did you really like it?” Bard wanted to be sure. “Not everyone does, and I want you to be honest.”

Thranduil smiled at him, reassuring him with a kiss. “I promise you, I liked it very much.”

“Good. I only want us to do things we like, even if they’re not the same things. This is sacred, and it must be honest, always. Promise me?”

“I give you my solemn vow, Bard. You are right; we must be open with each other about what pleases us, or we will not be truly happy.” He stroked his Bowman’s cheek. “I am glad you came back, tonight.”

“Me too. This wasn’t the only reason for my visit, though.” Bard closed his eyes and enjoyed Thranduil’s hand on his face, nipping at the tips of his fingers.

“Oh?”

“Sigrid cornered me as soon as we got back to our tent, and told me she guessed. And she’s happy for us. You already know that Tilda adores you. And Bain looks to you as some sort of hero.” He laughed a little. “My oldest is a smart cookie, that one. She said that the reason you acted so cantankerous when you first came to Dale was, because you were lonely and unhappy, so you’ll be glad to know she doesn’t hold it against you. She likes you a lot.”

Thranduil smiled, and he continued to caress Bard’s cheek. “I am glad to hear this. I hope they know that I like them as well.”

“They do. I hate the idea of them leaving me for the winter, and if there was any other way, I’d do it, but if we’re going to be a family, this might help the children to get to know you better.  I’d have a chance to get to know Tauriel, too.”  Bard leaned into his touch.  “Thranduil, I want us to be a real, loving family.

“That is a good way to make the most of our separation.”  He couldn’t help but tease Bard some more. “I must be good to all of you, or I will have to face Lady Hilda, and present my genitals for execution.”

“Oh, stop it!” Bard laughed, and smacked Thranduil's stomach. He sank his head back into the pillow, and said, “I can’t believe she said that!  I should warn you, though; she meant every word.”  

“She is protective of the ones she cares about. It is an excellent quality.”

They looked at each other, smiling. Soon all was quiet, as they spent several minutes kissing and caressing each other.

Bard thought of something. “You said the children would be staying with you in the Royal Wing?”

“I will place them in the apartment adjoining my Chambers, and put the girls in Tauriel’s room and Bain will sleep in Legolas’s. My study is also in that wing, so I should be there most of the time. I was thinking of installing Lady Hilda nearby as well. It will help the children feel more comfortable. She will oversee your people, so it would be convenient to have her close by, for meetings and such.”

“Sounds good to me. Another reason I wanted to talk to you is Tauriel. She won’t be with the children all winter long. She’ll be at loose ends, and it won’t be good for her.”

Thranduil looked conflicted. “That is a concern of mine, as well. I cannot lift her banishment, no matter how much I want to.” Thranduil rolled on his back and looked to the ceiling. “Bard, how can I not feel guilty for hurting her?”

“I know, love. I don’t know what to say about it, except urge you to think of things you can do for her now. You need each other.” Bard raised his arm and gathered Thranduil to him so his head was resting on Bard’s shoulder. “Tauriel’s family, now, and not because you and I are going to marry. She saved the children, and they love and trust each other. I don’t want her to suffer any more than she has to, after losing so much.”

“I do not want her to suffer either. But I do not know what can be done.”

“Become the father I know you want to be. Start gently; earn her trust with small things.  Spend time with her, Thranduil, and listen to her; prove you want to get to know her as she is now, yet tell her funny stories about the tiny little girl you remember. She'll eventually learn her heart is safe with you, if you be careful not to come on too strong.” Bard suggested, then he changed the subject, “Can I ask you something? About Elven rituals?”

“Of course.”

“I know that once we make love, we will be “joined” permanently, but about Tauriel? I highly doubt they did anything…physical, or if it’s even possible, but would that help her if she didn’t? I mean with her…whatchamacallit…”

“Her _feä_. Her spirit.”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, would there be a chance that she would get over him?”

“I honestly do not know. Elves, as I said the other night, almost always fall in love but once. They did not “marry” according to Elven custom, and it might help her tolerate her loss.  Galion learned to find some peace and happiness after his grief.  He was in love with my father, but it was never returned, and though he suffered greatly when he died, there was no question of his survival.  They did not experience the full effect of _Rista-Goeol,_ like I did.”

”The what?”

“It is the ‘Terrible Severing,’ Bard.  When an Elf falls in love, his _fëa_ knows it.  I knew it the moment I saw Mírelen.  She did not return my feelings at first, but if she had not, I would love no other while she lived.” Thranduil turned to Bard and smiled. “You see why I was confused when I fell in love with you.  I was not expecting such a thing.”

”So...  Tauriel felt this ‘Severing’ when Kili died?  Galion, too?”

”Yes.  They suffer, but since their _fëas_ were never joined, they would not not be in as much danger of fading.  I often think that is not a merciful thing.”

”But you and Mírelen...”

”We were one.  And when she went to the Halls of Mandos...”

“Your _fëas_  were torn in two.” Bard whispered.  “I’m so sorry.”

”It is almost impossible to tolerate.  The ‘Severing’ is terrible but the worst part is still being joined with not feeling them. The agony is in the empty space that can never be filled.  Any Elf that has been widowed faces the same.”

”And yet, you didn’t fade.  You survived.”

“Perhaps I would have found peace sooner, had I just faced my loss, when the danger passed.  Galion was right when he urged me to seek solace in the love of my son.  But, I was so used to running from things, and I was afraid to do differently. Galion thinks there is some underlying reason, most likely from the War.”

“Are you still talking with him?”

“Yes. But, some things I simply cannot talk about. At least, not yet.”

“Like when you got those scars?” Bard whispered.

Thranduil’s silence was answer enough.

“You will, when the time is right, Thranduil.  Just keep taking small steps, and build on them.  My Da used to say, ‘Life is three steps forward, and one step back.’  It was like than when my Mattie died. I would feel stronger, then something would happen to knock me on my arse again, and Percy would be dragging me out on his boat, getting me through it.”

“How did you know you were getting better, Bard?”

“When I realized more time went past between those boat trips. First, it was a day or two, then a week, then a couple of weeks…  The children, especially Tilda helped.  She had no sadness in her - she didn’t know any better - and she taught us how to smile and laugh again...” Bard kissed him.  “I’d love to tell you that there was one magical thing that changed it all, but it never works like that, and it took a long time.  If I’d met you before last fall, we wouldn’t have had a chance. I had to be really ready.”

“Maybe I had to be, as well.”

“If you get upset, or have another horrible nightmare, just think of it as your ‘step back,’ recover from it, and keep on.” Bard kissed his hair. “I believe in you, love. You can do this.”

“Thank you.” Thranduil whispered, pondering on all Bard had said.

Then, Bard changed the subject. “Enough of the serious talk. I was thinking of asking Bofur if Tauriel might spend some time with the Dwarves over the winter to distract her a bit. Dáin would have to agree, of course, so should I bring it up with him, myself?”

“Perhaps we should ask Mithrandir when we meet with him tomorrow. I will assign Daeron to guard the children while they are with me, and you could place Tauriel in charge of your personal guard during those months. She needs a to have task to perform.”

“Good idea. But, why don’t you assign her?”

“Bard, she is no longer my subject, she is yours.  I am only her King when you aren’t able.”

“Still, it would mean a lot to her, if it you came from you. Don’t ask her as a King.  Ask her as a father, needing her to watch over your husband.  Speak with her about the winter, and encourage her to visit the Dwarves, with your blessing, and tell her I agreed.  Show her you’re concerned for her well-being, which I know you are.  

Thranduil thought about it. “Thank you, _Meleth_ _nîn_. I shall do that.”

“We’ll talk to Gandalf. We need to give him back his hat, anyway, and thank him for those rings he gave us.”

Thranduil was keeping the rings found under the Wizard’s hat, in a box in the drawer of his bedside table. They were beautifully made; they were etched with vines with Emerald leaves, winding around a the onyx designs of the Black Arrowhead.  They were amazed at the skill and craftsmanship. And they fit, perfectly.

Bard asked Thranduil, “Speaking of rings, when do you think we should marry? I want to do it before you leave for winter, don’t you?”

“I agree.” He sat up and looked at Bard. “We are leaving next week to go to my home. Would you like to have Mithrandir give us a blessing here, with our families, and then leave after?”

Bard smiled. “I’d love that. The children should be there, plus Percy and Hilda. We’ll make a point to invite Tauriel, but you should do the talking; she’s your family, as well as mine. We could have a meal together, then leave. Let the kids spread the word about our marriage, and when we come back, everybody will already know. Your Council, and my people won’t have a chance to get involved, and drive us crazy.”

“I would like only our families at our ceremony, as well. Perhaps Feren, as he is my oldest friend, and Galion, as an honored guest. He has been as father to me, since I became King.” Thranduil rubbed his nose against Bard, and whispered, “Then, we will leave straightaway, and when we arrive at my Palace, we shall go straight to my chambers…”

“…and I could find out this ‘Elf Thing' is…” Bard whispered back.

Thranduil chuckled. “Yes. You will.” He kissed Bard’s brow, his eyes, then his lips, before grinning at him.

"No hints?"

"Not one."

“Good.  I want our first time to be in a special place, not a tent.  I’ll bet that bedroom in the Palace is as fabulous you are. We’d have a couple of days away from the children, so it will be a honeymoon, of sorts.”

Thranduil took his hand, kissed his palm, then started kissing his wrist, his forearm, all the way back to Bard’s face. He whispered into his mouth, “There is nothing I want more than to be inside of you for the first time, in our bed in my Halls.”

“Perhaps I can give you something to help with the waiting.” Bard grabbed the back of his neck, and held the kiss, opening his mouth, rolling Thranduil on his back.

He felt Bard’s hands in his hair, as their kiss became urgent, and he felt his loins stir. There were lips on his neck, then nibbling his earlobe, then - _oh_ , _he_ _loved_ _this_ \- a mouth nipping and sucking at the tips of his ear.  He gasped, and his hips and groin writhed against Bard, still trapped in his leggings and wanting out of them.

Bard must have understood, because his mouth trailed down his chest to his stomach, as he undid Thranduil’s lacings quickly, and pushed them down, lifting his half-hardened cock out. He cried out, as Bard started fingering his balls, and took all of him in his mouth, and sucked on him as hard as he was able, moving his tongue back and forth as he moved his head up and down, as Thranduil quickly became rock-hard under his ministrations. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting upwards, wanting as much of that heat as he could. Bard was now using one of his hands to work up and down his shaft, as he still played with balls with the other, still mouthing his head.

He arched back, eyes closed, as he groaned Bard’s name, between Sindarin endearments. _“Avo dharo, Bard! Lavo den! A, ma! Lavo i 'wî nîn!”_ he rasped, as he ran his hands through Bard’s black curls as he was bringing him to the edge. Bard massaged his balls, then the space behind them, until he brought them closer and closer to his opening. Unconsciously, Thranduil moaned, and moved his hips down, to get Bard’s fingers closer, and when his lover pressed his fingers onto it directly, rubbing it with small circles, the sensations sent him into the ecstasy he was craving, his hips thrust faster and harder, all the while, Bard was licking him, handling him until he was a grunting, moaning mess. He came so hard, he lost his voice and couldn’t even breathe, as his cock thrust into Bard’s mouth, able to do nothing but feel his orgasm’s power in every part of his body.

His Bowman didn’t stop, or even slow down, until Thranduil’s deep, urgent moans, turned into whimpers, then little mewls, until he melted, boneless into the mattress and pillows, unable to think, let alone form words, for many minutes.

He was panting hard, his face and chest felt flushed and warm, as he relaxed with eyes closed and a serene smile, as he floated in all the sensations flooding his body, and his heart. Bard was kissing his stomach, his chest, collarbone, all the way up, as Thranduil opened his eyes and saw his Bowman’s beautiful face hover over his, with all that wild, black hair hanging in his eyes. _Oh_ , _he_ _loved_ _this_ _man_ …

“How do you feel?” Bard asked.

“Hmmm….” Thranduil sighed. “If I were a certain foul-mouthed King of Dale, I am sure I could come up with some colorful descriptions of your skill.  I shall have a life-sized statue of you made, with a plaque honoring you for your prowess.  I will have it placed in the middle of your Market Square, so everyone would know just how good you are at - what do Men call it?”

“Let's see... There's 'Playing the Flute _,_ ’ or 'Bobbing for Apples _.’_   There is also the term, _‘_ Addressing the Court _.’”_   As Bard continued to recite, Thranduil began to laugh.  “Then there’s my personal favorite, _'_ Giving Big Jim and the Twinsa Bath _.'_  But, I'd never say anything like that. You’ll have to ask that foul-mouthed King, to be sure.”

By this time, Thranduil was belly-laughing and clutching his stomach.

Bard hit him with a pillow, “Hey! I’m being serious! If you’re going to put a plaque on my statue, I’ve a right to know exactly what it will say!”

Thranduil grabbed the pillow from him, using his Elvish strength and speed, flipped Bard on his back and straddled him, saying. “I believe I will list all of them. In fact, I will write to Elrond, so he can check his library. He might add even more colorful names to the list. Of course it will be nude, and I will be the envy of men and women near and far.”

Bard giggled, as he was pinned down. “No, you won’t.”

“Oh, and why not? I am King. My word is law.” Thranduil tried his best to look imperious. “You cannot stop me.”

“Oh, yes I can. One word from me, and I guarantee you, this will never, ever happen.” Bard, grinned smugly.

“Really? And what magical word would dissuade me from my course, King of Dale?”

_“Hilda.”_

“Ah. A powerful word indeed.  And a frightening one."  He let Bard go, which was a mistake, because turnabout was fair play, and he was grabbed by his middle and wrestled down.

“Please Sire, don't let that stop you. I’m dying to hear how high that baritone voice of yours can go, once she gets through with you!"

"You think Hilda of Dale could make _me_ squeak like mouse?  Me? Never!" Thranduil pounced, and almost managed to gain the upper hand, again. 

Giving as good as he got, Bard fought back, "Oh, really?  Tell me what would you rather face?  A thousand Orcs, or one angry Auntie Hil?" He demanded, as he finally managed to pin Thranduil down to the mattress, only because Thranduil was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

"I think Hilda should hear all about this nude statue you plan for the Market Place, don't you?"  Bard was ruthlessly holding the Elvenking down, looking into his red, laughing face.  "Is Galion busy? I'll have him get her, and we'll see what she has to say."  Then he turned his head toward the entrance to the sleeping chamber and opened his mouth and sang, _"Oh, Galiooooonnnn...."_

"All right!  All right!  Stop! I yield!"  Thranduil managed to get out between guffaws.  "Smaug would be terrified of her, when she gets angry.  I do not know why you bothered with that Black Arrow..."  Poor Thranduil was punished for that impertinent remark, when Bard grasped both wrists in one hand and tickling him senseless.

Finally they both had to stop and catch their breath, still chortling and giggling. 

How long had it been since he felt this happy, Thranduil wondered. When was the last time he _actually_ _had_ _fun_? 

And it would only get better...

He was feeling physical joy again, and he was anticipating with relish all he and Bard would become at their joining. Each time they touched each other, it made him want it more. The waiting was such a sweet, beautiful agony.

Words will never fully describe what this gift was for the Elves. He could go on for hours, trying to tell Bard what a joining was like, but he wouldn’t. He wanted Bard to discover it all for himself, and watch, above him and in him, as it happened, just as he did when he and Mírelen were together for the first time, in his favorite clearing. He never forgot the look in her eyes, and her face, and he never, _ever_ forgot the incredible feelings, when they were truly one. It was indescribable joy, and it will be again. He didn’t want to miss an instant of Bard’s discovery of such wonders.

He was excited about it, and it showed in the wide grin on his face.

“What are you thinking about, now, My King?” Bard asked, as he pulled Thranduil to him, wrapping him in his arms. Thranduil hummed with sated satisfaction, still smiling, and cuddled into Bard more, nuzzling his neck, never tiring of the warmth of his Bowman’s arms.

“Two things, actually.”

“Oh, really? And what are they, if a certain foul-mouthed King of Dale can ask?”

“First, that term: ‘Addressing the Court?’ How am I supposed to face my Council ever again, without thinking of it?” He chortled into Bard’s neck.

Bard giggled. “And what is the second thing?”

“I was thinking of ways to rule the Woodland Realm while never leaving my bed. I do not think I ever want to get out of it.”

He heard Bard sigh. “I know how you feel, love. I love this bed. It’s the most comfortable one I’ve ever been in.”

“Ah. So that is why you want me to make love to you. Is it only so you can have a nice bed to sleep in?”

“Yep. Well, its owner is sort of pretty, and he smells nice, too. But, to be honest, I'm in this for the mattress and feather pillows.”

“If that is the case, I will have a bed made and send it to you. Then you would not be obligated to marry me. A simpler solution, do you not think?”

Bard kissed his temple. “Better yet. Leave this one here, so I can bed _you_ in it. I’ve grown sort of attached to the idea of an Elf for my very own.”

“That is well, because I am attached to the idea of having a Bowman for my very own.”

“So, it’s settled, then.”

“So, it is.” Thranduil smiled.

 

 **ELVEN** **TRANSLATIONS** (I’m going to burn in hell for this; I just know it…)

 _Avo_ _dharo_ , _Bard_! – Don’t stop, Bard  
Lavo _den_! _Lavo_ _i_ ' _wî_ _nîn_ – Lick it! Lick my cock!  
_A_ , _ma_! – Oh, yes!  
_Gi_ _melin_ , _Bard_ – I love you, Bard

 **NOTES** :

Thanks to this website for the Doriathren Sindarin Phrases: https://realelvish.net/phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/sex/


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has a crisis of confidence, before facing the Dwarves for the negotiations at Erebor. Hopefully Thranduil can help.
> 
> Later, Tilda scares the life out of the poor, unsuspecting Elvenking, and hilarity ensues. Thranduil tries to mend relationship with Tauriel - can he? Or is it too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy Chapter Seventeen, as our little group begins to turn into a real family.
> 
> The short fic, ["Impulse"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10636203) by [shunnedfreak](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shunnedfreak/pseuds/shunnedfreak) is a rather new one, written in April this year. I liked it very much, and I hope you will, too. This same author has written another one, called ["Colours of Love"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10655835) that is unique and poignant. I loved it.

 

 

Bard was it his wits’ end.

Gandalf and Thranduil had been working with him all morning, helping him prepare  for the meetings starting tomorrow, at Erebor. The more they tried to coach him, the more unprepared he felt.

It was tiresome work. Bard had no experience with any of this, and he had never felt so inadequate. The survival of his city and the lives within it were at stake, and he could not settle.

Dwarves like to insult, they said. Do not engage. They like to intimidate, so don’t fall for it. Stand firm, but don’t be aggressive. Aim high, but don’t give in too easily, or they won’t respect you. On and on it went, until Bard threw up his hands in frustration.

“It’s not my way to argue, just for the sake of arguing, Gandalf! I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not, just to keep their noses in place! _Bloody fuck_ , I hate politics!” Bard pounded the table. “I will NOT behave like the Master of Laketown, with all this meaningless doublespeak!”

They had been at it for four hours, and all Bard could be sure of was, he was not ready for this, and he could fail his people. After trying to calm himself, he ran his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just remember how the Master was, and I can’t stand the idea of behaving that way. It feels like lying, and that’s not who I am.”

Thranduil put his hand on Bard’s arm, trying to calm him. “I know you did not mean to shout, Bard, but you _absolutely cannot_ lose your temper tomorrow, or for the next five days. You cannot. If Dáin thinks he can provoke you, then he will have found a weakness. It will also make you weak to other nations, if they know you are apt to be reactive. The entire future of Dale, and its place in Middle Earth starts tomorrow, and the stories will spread about their New King. The results of these talks will set the tone for every other nation who will seek to trade in the future.”

“That’s not helpful, Thranduil! You think piling even more weight on my shoulders is going to make me feel better?” Bard gritted his teeth. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? That all these lives and their future depends on me? You think I don’t worry, day and night, about whether I can even _do_ this fucking job I was _never prepared for?”_ He was angry. No. He wasn’t angry. He was afraid.

He got up from the table and started pacing in the living area, to work off his agitation. “I can’t fail. I can’t. I know that. And, ever since you told me, Gandalf, about the Necromancer, I feel like it isn’t even my city I mustn’t fail. It’s all the Northern Kingdoms, and the future of _ALL OF FUCKING MIDDLE EARTH!”_ He sat down on a cushioned chair, not even noticing it was Thranduil’s throne, which he never would have done intentionally. He leaned down and rubbed his forehead, and one of his legs started jumping up and down, rapidly. “I don’t think I can do this.” He said. “What if I do fail? What if I screw all this up? What if we end up with nothing?”

Thranduil got up, and went to him. “I am sorry, _Meleth nîn.”_ He took one of Bard’s hands in both of his. “I did not mean to make you more upset. I should not have said those things. Now, look at me, please.” Bard slowly raised his eyes to his Elf. “Listen to me carefully. You are _not_ like the Master of Laketown, Bard, and you never will be. If you spent all your days trying, you could never be like that wretch.” Thranduil’s eyes twinkled at him, sharing a secret smile. “You are a man of excellence, Bard. The people of Dale are wise to put their faith in you, and their faith is not misplaced, I am sure of it.”

Thranduil turned to Percy, Galion, and Gandalf, “Perhaps we can pause for now, and in a while get our midday meal. I think Bard and I could do with a bit of air. Would that be agreeable?”

Galion nodded and Gandalf got out his pipe, “I think that would be a good notion. I’m rather hungry, myself. Why don’t you two take a walk while lunch is being prepared, and I’ll stay and chat with Galion and Percy, here.”

Thranduil squeezed Bard’s hand. “Come, let us go.” He pulled Bard up to a standing position, and gave him his coat. As they were leaving the tent, Thranduil looked at Gandalf meaningfully and said, “I believe I know what you wish to talk with them about, and I think it is much better, this way. We will be back shortly.”

Thranduil walked with Bard, while he tried to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, Thranduil. Really, I am. It’s just so hard sometimes to bear all of this. Being so responsible… Sometimes it feels like I’m slammed from every direction, and I don’t know how to get used to it. I want so much for Dale; this city could be all it used to be and more, and my people deserve better than they ever got from the Master.”

“I understand, Bard. It must be difficult to look after them, when you never had to think of it before,” the Elvenking commented, as they walked.

“Well, no, I did think about them.  It was hard not to.” Bard said. “But the Master was so self-serving, and he didn’t care about those who were sick, or starving, and his men didn’t care either.”

“So, they were left to starve and succumb to illness?”

“Pretty much. The ones who could take care of themselves, were the ones the Master bothered with. They had money, so, of course he was interested, but the poor and the sick, were beneath his notice; they were a burden. If he wasn’t going to get any money from them, they could die in droves for all he cared. To his mind, sickness and starvation were going to kill all the ‘right’ people.”

“But there was not much you could do, to help them, Bard. You had so little, yourself.”

“I tried smuggle in supplies and medicines when I could.”

“So, it was not difficult to locate such things, or get them in the city.” Thranduil speculated.

Bard huffed. “That’s not true! It took some doing, let me tell you. But I managed. I even smuggled in some Dwarves as you well know.” He smirked at the Elvenking.

“I am aware of that particular event.” Thranduil smiled. “So, you smuggled in all those things by yourself, to help your people?”

“No. I had help. Hilda, Percy and some others took over the shipments, as soon as I brought them in, because the Master was always watching me. We had a system, to secretly distribute things, and a way to distract the guards. It was brilliant!” He smiled. “That’s how I know those two will be a huge help to get the city on its feet.”

“And Percy and Hilda designed this ingenious system, yes?”

“No, they didn’t. I did. I mean, they helped, but I thought of who to ask and how it needed to be done. I’ve been at the wrong end of the Master plenty enough, so I knew all his men, where they’d be and what time of day, and who their friends were. I learned who to trust and who not to.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. The air was getting colder; winter was coming soon, but the sun was shining. During the last two weeks, the streets had been cleared of bodies, and debris. The sand and soil had been brought in, scattered liberally on the streets, and will be swept back up, starting tomorrow. Dale was smelling much better. Too many of the buildings were still in ruins, but the potential of what it could be was much easier to see. Bard found himself looking around and imagining it full of color and life, and he smiled.

“Now, let us review.” Thranduil continued. “You have been taking care of your people for quite some time, so that is not a new burden, is it? You have found sources for food and supplies other than what the old Master had provided, am I correct? You were able to devise a plan, to get them into the town, right under the noses of the Master and his men. You also devised a plan for distributing them, again, under the noses of the Master. I assume weren’t got caught, because I doubt you would have been free to smuggle the Dwarves you mentioned earlier, am I correct?”

Bard thought about this, then smirked. He looked over at Thranduil, who was walking with his hands behind his back, his eyebrow raised on that beautiful face, pretending to look innocent.

“Yes?” The Elvenking asked.

Perhaps Bard wasn’t as unprepared as he thought, was he? He could be cagey, he could be clever, and he knew how to get around obstacles, without them even knowing it. Maybe he could do this, after all.

Bard shook his head, and laughed. “No one has to worry about you, during these talks. You seem to be an expert at telling people what to think, aren’t you?”

“Nonsense. I have not told you anything, _Meleth nîn._ I merely asked a question or two. If you have reached some sort of conclusion, it is because you already had the answers. Perhaps you needed to be reminded of them.”

He laughed some more, then reflected. “I can’t believe how different my life is now. But maybe the most important things about it are still the same.”

“I agree. I also thought you might need a reminder of just why you are going to be working so hard.”

Bard then realized where Thranduil was taking him.

“Hello children! How are you all today?” The Elvenking greeted the group as they entered the tent.

Bronwyn came over to Bard and Thranduil and curtsied. “We’re happy to see you, King Bard, King Thranduil. Aren’t we children?” She turned back to them. “Now, what do we do when we see our King, boys and girls? Let’s show King Bard, and King Thranduil what we’ve been learning!”

All the children gave polite curtsies and bows. The littlest ones did their best, and the attempts were charming.

“That is very good, children!”  Thranduil nodded his head to them. Bard applauded them, and bowed his head, smiling. After they were done, Tilda ran from the group, right past her father and hugged the Elf’s knees.

“Well, I can see where I’m not wanted,” Bard laughed, as Thranduil picked Tilda up and balanced her on his hip. “So, you love him better than your old Da, now?”

“Do not be silly, King Bard. Tilda is simply giving me her report on the Important Task I have assigned to her. We agreed I would have daily updates, did we not, Lady Tilda?”

Tilda grinned at her Da, and nodded up and down enthusiastically. Then she cupped her hand around her mouth, and whispered some things into the Elvenking’s ear, who listened intently, hummed and nodded several times.

“I see. I thank you, Lady Tilda, for this report. You are making satisfactory progress. I shall speak to you tomorrow, yes? Now, you must go back to your friends, but your Da would like some attention, do you not think?” He put her down, then Tilda hopped over to her father for a kiss and scooted back to the others.

Bard and Thranduil watched the children play for a few minutes, then said their goodbyes. As they were making their way back to the Elvenking’s tent Bard felt immeasurably better. He knew this would still be a harrowing week with the Dwarves, but he no longer doubted himself. Thranduil helped to remind him, in the best way possible, who he was, and who he was fighting for, and why.

Something else occurred to Bard. Thranduil chose to tell his children the story of the Aulë and the creation of the Dwarves to help him, too. If he understood who they were, where they came from, and why they had the personalities they did, he could have a much better chance of success with them. He looked over at his Elf, trying not to look too besotted with him.

It must not have worked, because Thranduil smiled back and said, “I see you are feeling better. But it might be wise if you did not look like you want to tear my robes off. It would be unseemly to leer at me so, in public; I am a King after all.”

“So am I. But you’re right. He sighed. “Thank you for taking me to see the children. I do feel better, but I’m still not looking forward to all of this.”  
“I understand. But keep in mind, Dáin will only be there tomorrow, and the rest of the time, we will be dealing with Balin. He is much more judicious, is he not?”  
“You’re right. He is. That’s good to keep in mind.”

“In addition, I have the impression Mithrandir will be telling my Aide and yours about the true identity of the former resident of Dol Guldur. Your comment, about the Necromancer forced the issue.”

Bard stopped. “Oh, shit! Thranduil, I’m sorry. I was just so upset. I shouldn’t have -”

“Peace, Bard. I think it is a good thing. I believe all parties should be aware of this ahead of the meetings. I am going to urge Mithrandir to see Dáin this evening and inform him. This might put him in a more cooperative mood. Once the Dwarves know the seriousness of what is at stake, much posturing will be eliminated.”

“Thank you Thranduil; for everything. None of this would be possible, if you hadn’t came to Dale.”

“Nonsense. I merely came Dale to get my heirlooms back.” Thranduil said with a small smile on his face.

“And, as _I_ said before, I don’t believe you.” Bard smiled back.

They were silent for a moment, then Bard told him, “I really hope you get them.”

“I hope so, too.” Thranduil looked thoughtful. “My reasons now for wanting them are different than when I first came. I am glad of it.”

“Is it because of me?”

“Not as much as you might believe, which is a good thing.”

“Why is that?” Bard was curious.

“I have started to face memories of her now. It is still difficult, but I think it will become easier, with time. When I was confronted on the day of the Battle, those were terrible moments for me. Strangely enough, I believe those confrontations gave me the impetus to change my thoughts and actions.”

“The Valar inspire us in ways we sometimes never expect, you like to tell me.” Bard reminded him.

“I did say that.  I struggle to not be angry with myself about it, because what would be the point? I think I had to wait for the right time.”

“Why now, do you think?”

“Perhaps the Valar was waiting for a certain Bowman to slay a Dragon. Or maybe I had to wait until Mirelen was sent to Valinor, after her time in Mandos’ Halls was ended. Regardless, now that I have been released from our bond, it is a strange, but good feeling. In losing her, I have her back again.” Thranduil smiled. “It does not sound logical, I know, but it feels true, nonetheless.”

“It makes perfect sense, Thranduil, it really does. You don’t have to run from your memories, anymore.”

They both smiled. Then Bard told Thranduil, “You know, even if you are with me, you might still have days when you miss her. It’s still going to hurt, now and again.”

Thranduil stopped and looked at him. “Why do you say this?”

“Because, I think we both will. Sigrid is the picture of her mother, and I’ll always love that about her, but it still hurts to see once in a while.  She’ll do or say something that makes me see Mattie, and it’s hard. Tilda makes me think of her too; when she learns something new, Mattie isn’t there to see it.  If I see a flower or a pretty sunset, I think of how she loved them.

“Even though you and I are together, we’ll have moments, but that’s all right Thranduil.  The memory of wives aren’t a measure of what you and I have or don’t have. They’ll remind us how blessed we were to have them in our lives.  As long as we can talk about it, we’ll be fine.  In fact, I’d like to know more about your wife, whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, _Meleth nîn._ I would like to do that, sometime.”

They continued to the Elvenking’s tent, and finished their preparations.

 

***************

 

This evening’s dinner was as pleasant as before, with the children and their chatter, as Thranduil smiled, over their heads, at Bard. Tauriel seemed to be enjoying herself, too. He was watching her with the children, seeing her fondness for them, and he was pleased at their natural rapport.  It was a good decision to make sure she would be around children, but even better now, because these children would soon be siblings!  

Bard was right. Now that Tauriel was no longer his subject, perhaps this made it easier to gently cultivate their relationship. Tauriel would need his support, to help her move on from Kili. He and Bard made sure she attended these family dinners as with the children, to help them grow into a family.

Thranduil couldn’t deny the awkwardness between them; she was used to dealing with the inaccessible King as a child, then an icy, haughty Commander as an adult. It was useless to think of what could have been, but how could he not to berate himself? Galion and her caregivers had made sure she had known plenty of love and affection, but how does that make up for what she had sought from him? He felt blessed and excited at having the chance to experience some of the joys of genuine parenting with Bard’s children, but how to make it up to an elleth who lost her parents, lost a childhood with a man who should have been a real father to her? Even so, nothing would prevent him from trying to be a father to her in whatever way she was ready for, now. It was all he could do, and he wanted to, with all his heart.

This evening was also an important milestone for little Tilda, although it didn’t start out that way.

When Tauriel brought them into his tent for dinner, earlier, there were all the usual greetings, of course. Then Tilda crawled into his lap, scaring him practically to death, as she proudly showed him her brand-new, gap-toothed smile. Thranduil gasped and his eyes opened wide in alarm.

 _“AI, TILDA! MAN SE, HÊNIG!_ ” He cried, his heart leaping into his throat. _“Tíro nin, Tithen pen!”_ He tilted her head up so he could get a better look. _“Nae!_ Have you _seen_ this Bard?  What in Arda has happened to her?”

Even Galion came hurrying over, wanting to see what was wrong, gasped, and began to speak rapidly in Sindarin, as they both looked down at the little girl, concerned.

“Tilda has suffered an injury, Bard! Did someone hurt her?” Thranduil asked Tauriel, then turned back to the little girl, “Did someone hurt you?”

His apprehension was met with giggles, mostly from the child on his lap.

Bard got up from his chair and went over to Tilda, and put his fingers on her chin. “Open up, love. Let Da see what all this is about.” He examined her teeth. “Aye, I see the trouble now. I didn’t even know it was loose. Good for you, Little Bean!”

Thranduil stared at him open-mouthed. “What is this?” he demanded. “What is going on?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Thranduil. Tilda lost a baby tooth, that’s all.”

“Baby tooth? They have baby teeth?”

“They have baby teeth.” Bard informed him.

The Elvenking kept staring at Tilda, still not convinced she was fine. “Is she going to be all right?”

Bard, smiled and sat back down. “All children her age, start to lose their baby teeth. Her mouth is getting bigger, and she is making room for her grownup teeth. Don’t worry, soon Tilda will have a whole new smile, right love?” He grinned at Tilda, still seated on the Elf’s lap.

“They will all fall out? _All of them?”_ Thranduil asked, weakly, and Galion didn’t look much better.

“Ye _th_! And the other front tooth is loo _th_ too!” Tilda lisped proudly.

“It doesn’t hurt her?” He looked down at Tilda, “It doesn’t hurt you?” He wasn’t going to be convinced until he heard it from her.

She shook her head. “No. Well, maybe a teeny bit, but when I lo _th_ t my bottom two teeth, it didn’t hurt at all.”

Thranduil looked from Bard to Tilda, skeptical, then back to Bard, who snickered, then started to laugh. “I do not understand what is so funny!  How am I to know about human children?”

“I _th_ cared you!” The child in question pointed at him, and giggled in glee, hugging Charlotte, who was sporting her blue dress today, with matching shoes.

All the rest started to snicker, as Bain nudged Sigrid. "I _told_ you he'd have a fit."

Even Tauriel was holding her hand in front of her mouth, smiling. Thranduil looked desperately over at Galion, hoping at least _he_ would approach all this with some sense. His Aide was looking like he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

Bard wasn’t even trying to control himself. “I’m sorry, Thranduil.” He wiped one of his eyes. “I’m sorry, but you should've seen your face…” and grabbed his middle, laughing in earnest.

Thranduil gave his lover haughty look, complete with an eyebrow raised almost to his hairline.

Sigrid took pity on him first, and went over to his chair and put her arm around his shoulders, protectively. “Now, stop picking on poor Thranduil!” She turned to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t feel bad. Tauriel wasn’t exactly calm when it first came out. It took Bronwyn ten minutes to convince her no one had hit her. This one bled a lot more than the others.” Sigrid said. “And _aren’t we all glad_ _Da_ wasn’t around for that part?” She looked pointedly at her father, smirking with an air of superiority.

An evil grin appeared on Bard’s face. “Oh, tease your old man, would you? It seems to me, I recall a certain little girl with a loose tooth -“

“Da-aaaa!” Sigrid gasped, as only an adolescent female can. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would, and I will, and you started it.” He smiled at his oldest and stuck his tongue out at her. “Now that we’ve convinced the Elvenking that Tilda is in no imminent danger, why don't we ask him to stand down his armies, so we can eat?” suggested Bard, with a sly grin. “Then I have a story for you, about when Sigrid lost a tooth, how about it? Sigrid and Bain, would you help Galion fetch our dinner? And you, Beanie, can help set the table, all right?”

“Bard, they do not have to…”

Bard held up his hand. “This is what they have done all their lives, and just because they’re Royalty now doesn’t excuse them from helping.”

Thranduil smiled at Bard, as Tilda climbed down from his lap, handing Charlotte to him for safekeeping, and went over to Galion, taking his hand as they all left to fetch their dinner.

Bard took pity on him, and tried to take Charlotte from Thranduil’s lap, but he refused. “Tilda gave her to me to watch, and here she shall remain.” He said proudly.

Bard laughed at him.  “I think I’ll take Tilda to Erebor with me. There'd be no need for talks, and I’d come home with half treasure in the mountain! All she’d have to do is look at King Dain with that face of hers, pout a little, and that would be that.”

Thranduil smiled. “Of this, I have no doubt.” To Tauriel, he said, “Come, sit down, please. How is Bain’s training coming along?”

“He is very eager, My Lord, and has been practicing faithfully.”  She said, taking a chair.

“Tauriel, we are having a family dinner, so no titles in private, please.” Bard said.

“But -“ She looked from Bard back to Thranduil, who smiled at her, and nodded.

“Did Bard not say you were family?” he asked her.

“Yes, My… Yes.” She agreed, bemused.

“You are Bard’s subject now, which means you are no longer under my authority. You must do as he says.” Thranduil said in a light tone, with a small smile.

“Actually, Tauriel, we wanted to get you alone, because we need to ask you something.” Bard said. “Once the talks with the Dwarves are finished, Thranduil will be going to his Kingdom for several days, and I’m going with him. While I’m gone, I’ll need you to stay with the children.”

“Of course, I will, Bard. You need not ask; it would be a pleasure."

“There isn’t anyone I trust more to look out for them." Bard smiled. "There’s something else, too. Something personal we’d like to ask you, if you would…” he looked at Thranduil, who turned to her.

“Tauriel, the morning before we leave, we have asked Mithrandir to come to my tent to marry Bard and myself according to the customs of Men, then have a luncheon with our families as a small, private feast. Lord Percy and Lady Hilda will be there, along with Bard’s children. Commander Feren and Galion will also attend as guests. I would be honored if you would join us as part of my family, as well.” He put his hand on hers, and gave it a small squeeze.

Tauriel, overwhelmed, smiled shyly, and nodded.

“Wonderful! That’s settled, then.” Bard said cheerily. “We’re keeping this a secret, because this is about _us_ , not two Kingdoms. No pomp and ceremony, no hullabaloo. The children don't know yet, but we'll tell them in the next day or two, so please don't say anything. We're counting on them to spread the word after we leave."  He looked at Thranduil and smiled, then he turned back to Tauriel. “We just want family, of which you are definitely a member.” He finished his sentence in time for the others to appear with their meal. “Ah! Here we are. Let’s eat, shall we?”

As they were eating dinner, Bard was telling them all about the time Sigrid was Tilda’s age, with a loose tooth. She had gone with a little friend to play, and came home with a black eye. “A right shiner it was. Your mother was having kittens, she was so mad. She wanted to march right down to -, what was her name, Sigrid?”

“Astrid, Da. Her name was Astrid, and you really don’t need to tell this story…” Sigrid was hiding her eyes behind her hand.

“Sure, I do. Your sister needs cheering up. She just lost a tooth, after all.”

“I don’t need cheering up, Da! Thi _th_ means I’m growing up!” Tilda protested.

“I guess  _I_  need cheering up.” He pouted at his youngest. “You promised me you’d always stay little.”

“I did not!” Tilda objected.

“My mistake. Anyway, Mattie was ready to march down to see Astrid’s mother and give her a shout, when Sigrid stopped her and said…”

“Da, please…” Sigrid begged, “I’ll do anything..."

“But, I wanna hear what happened!” Tilda cried.

“I would like to hear as well.  Why would a little girl do such a thing to our Sigrid?” asked Thranduil.

“Sigrid asked her to.” Her Da said smugly.

Now Sigrid had both her hands over her face.

“Surely not!” said the Elvenking.

“ _Th_ urely not!” Tilda echoed.

The storyteller had to pause, because Tauriel was choking on her wine, and Tilda had to thump her on her back.

“You gonna live, over there?”  Bard asked her.

Tauriel nodded her head, still coughing.

”You were saying?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

”Where was I?  To answer your question, Little Bean, your sister ‘ _th_ urely’ did. Mattie asked her, ‘Why in Ulmo’s name you would _want_ to get punched in the eye?’”

“Why _would_ Sigrid want such a thing?” Thranduil was completely confused.

“Well, I’ll tell you: Our girl put her hands on her hips, grumpy-like, and said, 'I wanted this tooth to come out, so I told Astrid to punch me really, really hard in the mouth, and she _missed and hit my eye, instead!'_ then Sigrid stomped off, madder than a wet hen, and pouted, for hours."

Everybody was laughing, by then. Tauriel's eyes were scrunched shut, and she was holding her hand over her mouth, and Galion didn’t bother attempting to keep a straight face. Even Sigrid, embarrased as she was, joined in the merriment.

“Do Elve _th_ have baby teeth, Thrandool?” Tilda asked.

“No, _Tithen pen_ , they do not. That is why I was so frightened. I thought maybe someone a hit _you_ in the mouth.” He smiled down at her, and booped her nose.

“When doe _th_ a baby Elf be a big Elf?”

“When Legolas and Tauriel looked to be your age, they were about twenty years old, in your years. They were like Sigrid when they were about seventy. We don’t consider an Elven child to be an adult until they are one hundred years old.”

“Wow.” Bain breathed.

“They grow much more slowly compared with us, so maybe their teeth don’t fall out, because they grow like our bones do.” Sigrid said. “That’s interesting.”

“It is fascinating to consider how Elves develop, compared to humans, is it not?” Thranduil asked her.

“I’ve got a lot to learn, then, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do, _hênig_ , but I am confident you will. All you children will have to work hard and learn much, in order to serve your Kingdom well. But I have no doubt you will excel. Tauriel worked hard to learn and train, and she served the Woodland Realm with excellence for many years. I am very proud of her.”

Thranduil smiled at his foster-daughter, who blushed, awkwardly.

“Tauriel, what were you like when you were little?”

“I would be happy to tell you about that, _Tithen pen_.” Thranduil said, glancing at Tauriel before he addressed Tilda. He looked over at Galion, who had a grin on his face. “Galion and I, as well as most of the Palace could tell you, she was lovely child, and very endearing.”

“You knew her when she was little?” Tilda looked between Galion and Thranduil, curiously.

“We did. You see, Tauriel grew up in my Halls, in the Royal Apartments. She came to us when she was still a baby, although she could walk and say a few words.”

“A toddler, then.” Bard said.

“I’ll bet she was so cute,” said Sigrid.

Thranduil chuckled. He could feel Tauriel’s surprised look, rather than see it. _Gently, Bard said…_

“She was a beautiful child.  Her hair was lighter then and very curly. She was mischievous, and into _everything._   When Legolas was that age, he liked to run everywhere as fast as he could, and we spent much of our time chasing after him. Tauriel was more interested in getting into things. Galion used to ask me if we were sure she only had ten fingers, as it seemed to him she had twice as many! We used to call her _Gwinïg_.”

“What does that mean?” Bain asked.

Thranduil laughed softly. “ _Gwinïg_ means ‘Little Fingers.’” An appropriate name, do you not think, Galion?”

“Most appropriate.” Galion laughed, grinning down at Tauriel. 

Tauriel blushed, and smiled down her plate.

“Did Tauriel ever get into trouble, like _Th_ igrid did?” Tilda asked.

“Tilda! I didn’t get into trouble, I just wanted my tooth out!” Sigrid said. "It wasn't my fault Astrid missed!"

Tilda rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

“Galion deserves most of the credit for how well Tauriel grew up, Tilda.”  Thranduil looked at his Chief Aide, not in sadness and regret, but with admiration and gratitude. “I think you will find, there was no one in my Realm who knows our little _Gwinïg,_ better.”

“Yes, Tilda, Tauriel got into mischief, many times.” Galion told her. “Once when she was smaller than you were, she went into my study and got into the inkpots on my desk, spilling it all over some important trade agreements. It took Lord Thranduil and I all night to rewrite them in time for the meetings the next day.”

A wave of delighted horror swept through the children, and they looked at Tauriel in a whole new light. Clearly, they were impressed; especially Bain. Tauriel looked a combination of embarrassed and flattered at being the center of attention.

“I’ll bet you were _really mad,_ ” Tilda predicted.

“I was not pleased at all.” Thranduil said. “But she was too young to understand what she had done. She had always been a curious child, and asked questions about everything she saw.  After Galion discovered the state of his desk, I went into her room, to find her sleeping with ink all over her hands and her clothes, and smudges all over her sheets and blankets.”

“What did you do?”

Thranduil shook his head at Tilda. “Nothing. Her little face looked like she had cried herself to sleep, and I could see she felt bad about what she had done.  I let her sleep, and then ordered Galion to have locks put on the doors and cupboards to keep her out of things until she got older. It took a while for all the ink to fade from her skin. I was _very_ glad she did not get ink in her hair, because I did not want to see all those lovely curls cut off.”

“My desk still has the spots from the ink.” Galion smiled proudly. “Lord Thranduil offered to replace it, but I rather liked how _Gwinïg_ decorated it.” He smiled at Tauriel fondly.

“That’s too funny,” giggled Sigrid.

Bard gave Thranduil a wink. “I’ll bet Thranduil got into his share of trouble, and I'm sure Galion has a few stories to tell. What do you think kids, shall we ask him?”

Despite Thranduil’s objections, Galion was only too happy to share a story or two to prove the Elvenking had hardly been a well-behaved Elven Prince. Everyone listened eagerly.  Especially Tauriel.

Thranduil decided the embarrassment was worth it, as he watched her face. She was genuinely having a good time, and this made him happy. He looked at his Bard, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks, for bringing this man into his life.

 

***************

 

The first day of talks at Erebor was long and exhausting.  When they finally got back to Dale, Bard and Thranduil stopped at the Elvenking’s tent for a short time, holding each other, and exchanging a few kisses and caresses, but Bard was exhausted, and didn’t want to stay. 

"I'm sorry, love."  He told Thranduil, as he snuggled into his Elf's neck.  "I'm so tired, and I haven't seen the children all day.  We didn't even get to have dinner with them."

"I, too, am fatigued."  Thranduil kissed him again.  "Go and get some rest.  Today went well, but we are only at the beginning.  Please tell the children good night for me."

"They'll probably be asleep, already.  It's so late."

"Could you bring them with you in the morning?  We could have breakfast together.  I do not want miss them entirely, like we did today."

"Aye.  I'll do that, then.  Good night, and I love you."

 _"Gi melin, Bard."_ They kissed once more, and he left for his tent.  

Several minutes later, Bard fell into his bed, and had no trouble falling asleep, for once.  After a time, he woke up to a terrible wailing sound…

Tilda was screaming.

Bard shot up into a sitting position, clambered out of bed, and went to the cot his youngest was sleeping in. “Tilda, wake up, darling. Come on now, wake up.”

He pulled her into a sitting position, and she was still crying, sobbing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath; she'd knocked the wind out of herself.

Tilda did this when really upset. He took her head in his hands and blew into her face, with hard short breaths, to startle her into inhaling.  It worked, and she then let out an even louder howl. He gathered her into his arms. “Shh, Shh…there now, Little Bean, wake up.  Da’s here, and you're safe now.” She was still crying, but she slowly became aware of her surroundings. He kissed her hair and rocked her a little bit. “Are you awake, now?” he asked as he stroked her hair. She nodded her head, but she still cried. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, making shushing noises, trying to soothe her fright.

Sigrid sat up. “Is she all right, Da?”

“Aye, she’ll be fine. Go back to sleep, now.” He told her.

Before she did, Sigrid got up and brought Bard a washcloth and some water. He wiped Tilda’s face, blew her nose, and persuaded her to drink a little bit. Then she started to calm down, still wrapped up in his arms.

“I had a bad dream, Da.” She said.

“You sure did, Beanie. Can you tell me what it was about? You’ll feel better if you can talk about it.”

“She spoke to him in a wobbly voice, between hiccups. “W-we were _th_ upposed to go in the Great Hall, and you went away, and the Trolls found u _th_.” She sobbed. “I kept yelling your name and looking f-for you, but you didn’t come! I wa _th_ afraid you were d-dead.” She sniffed.

“Well, I’m glad you woke up.” He said soothingly. “I’m right here, and you’re all right now, yeah?” He still stroked her hair. “You’re safe, and in your Da’s arms, right?” He felt her head nod up and down. “I’m sorry you were scared, darling. Do you want some more water?”

“Maybe a little.” She took another drink, and handed it to him, and he set it on the small table in between their beds. “Can I _th_ tay with you, Da? I’m afraid to go back to _th_ leep.”

“Sure, you can. Do you need to visit the necessary?” She shook her head no. “Come on then.” He picked her up and they went to his cot and snuggled together. “Are you warm enough?” She nodded her head again. “Good. Now, let’s try to get some sleep, shall we?”

They lay there for a few minutes, settling in. “Da?”

“What is it, Beanie?”

“Do you like King Thrandool a really lot?”

“I do. Do _you_ like him a really lot?” Bard asked her.

“Uh huh.”

“Why do you ask that?” He rubbed her back to help her fall asleep.

“Becau _th_ , I he like _th_ you a really lot, too.”

He smiled in the darkness. “How can you tell?”

“He look _th_ at you the way Uncle Per _th_ y look _th_ at Auntie Hil.” She yawned. “It’s really ni _th_ e,” she mumbled, as he smiled and kissed her brow. Soon, her breathing became regular and she was asleep again.

Bard smiled in the darkness until he, too, fell asleep.

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Ai, Tilda!_ – Oh, Tilda!  
_Man se, hênig!_ – What is this, my child?  
_Tíro nin, tithen pen. Nae!_ – Look at me, little one. Alas!  
_Tithen pen_ – Little one  
_Hênig_ – My child  
_Gwinïg_ – “little fingers.”

 

NOTES:

\- Tilda’s little lisp is adorable to hear, but it’s murder to write, so this is the only chapter that you’ll have to struggle through reading it, I promise.

\- Many years ago, a certain little girl actually did ask her friend to punch her, to knock her tooth out, and came home with a black eye. Thanks D, for giving me such a great story.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil meet with the Dwarves this week, and Bard is pooped!
> 
> Thranduil is finally given what he desires from the Dwarves, and he's grateful to Bard for being there when he opens the box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's the middle of July and we're having a hot, humid stormy summer so far, in the Midwest. Hope you all are comfortable, and enjoying yourselves. Here is Chapter Eighteen - just two more after this, and they finally get married! Hang in there!
> 
> There is a wonderful, moving series called ["Shakespeare Does a Funny Thing,"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/234900) by the wonderful author [star_named_andy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/star_named_andy/pseuds/star_named_andy/works?fandom_id=873394) you will love. ["Spiders,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3605199) written by the same author, part of the ["Barduil One-Shots"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/392782) series, made my sides hurt, I laughed so hard!!! You have GOT to check it out!
> 
> Have a wonderful day, and thank you for reading. If you enjoy my story, please feel free to let me know, in the comments!

 

 

 

The next five days were busy and pressure-filled. Bard and Thranduil, accompanied by their respective Aides, left right after breakfast for Erebor, then returned to Dale late in the evening, in order to accomplish all that was needed with the Dwarves.

Before the talks began, Balin, on Dáin’s behalf had invited them to stay on as their guests, but Bard didn’t want to be separated from his kids any more than he had to. The Dwarves were slightly miffed at his refusal, but when Bard explained the predicament of their separation over the winter, and told them of Tilda’s nightmares, their insult turned into concern for his little one, and an alternative plan was put into place.

Tomorrow, on the last day of the talks, Bard’s children along with Hilda, escorted by Tauriel, two Elven Guards, and Bofur to attend the feast closing the negotiations, for an overnight stay in their guest quarters. The next day, all the guests will be given a tour of Erebor to appreciate its wonders and beauty.

For Bard, the negotiations were both easier and more difficult than he had anticipated.

Before the talks began, Gandalf took Thranduil’s advice, and told Dáin the identity of the Necromancer, and the importance of stabilizing the North. The Wizard attended all the meetings, serving as independent council, to help all parties come to agreement. Bard had been nervous about Dáin; was he as unreasonable as Gandalf had made him out to be? He was pleasantly surprised to find this was not the case, at least this time.

Dáin’s salute to Bard during his coronation feast had been sincere. The Dwarves were willing to do everything they could for Dale, and were interested in cordial relations and trade with the Woodland Realm, as well. Dáin, during his opening remarks, went so far as to thank Thranduil for his clandestine assistance to the Dwarves, after the Sack of Erebor, and briefly mentioned the misunderstanding concerning his arrival with the Army of the Iron Hills.

Thranduil was gracious about it, bless him, and said to Dáin and his staff. “Please, let us speak no more about it; Gold Sickness is a powerful and devastating madness. In the end, the Valar found a way use it, to bring us all together when the Enemy arrived unexpectedly. What is important, is that Thorin had the strength and determination to overcome it, which was a remarkable feat. He and his nephews died with honor. Let us now work toward setting aside this and any ancient grudges betwixt our people, and renew the good relations we enjoyed before the Dragon came to the North. We cannot change what was done in the past. The focus must be on what we do now, and in the future to secure the North, to ensure the existence of our Kingdoms.”

Bard could have kissed him. In fact, he planned to, along with some meaningful groping, as soon as he had the chance. He had been privy to some of Thranduil’s more derisive comments about the Dwarves before the Battle, and this change of heart, be it pretext or genuine, made things much easier.

Bard’s opening remarks were simple and brief. He stated his goal to see Dale in its former glory and beyond, and to celebrate the cultural differences of the Northern Kingdoms, as well as what unites them as Free People. Only then, will the Enemy have no chance to destroy them. He wanted his city to reflect the best of Men, Elves and Dwarves, as it is centrally located, and expressed his desire to educate Dale’s children and adult citizens on the history and language of their three Kingdoms, as well as train his military in tactics from both the Dwarves and the Elves. Dáin was especially pleased to hear this.

So, the negotiations began and they were off to a good start.

Bard’s apprehensions regarding his ability to handle himself well, turned out to be unfounded, but the weight of responsibility never left him for a moment. It was stressful, grueling work.

The Dwarves surprised Bard by offering more gold than he thought they would; far above Bard’s initial figure. This was a pleasant surprise, but to keep the Dwarves happy, he made a half-hearted attempt to bargain for more, so as not to appear weak. They settled on a price slightly higher. Arrangements were made to keep the gold in a vault in Erebor, as there was no Treasury building in Dale, yet.

The armor salvaged from all the Orcs would be delivered to Erebor immediately, to be melted down for weapons and building supplies, such as hinges nails, etc. A portion of the metal will be used as payment for this work. It was decided the blacksmiths from Erebor would not come into Dale during the winter, as Bard suggested. Too many things needed to be made, in too short a time. There wasn’t time to set up the smithy, and too much fuel would be needed to get the fires to the right temperature, in the freezing temperatures. Instead, the two Dale blacksmiths, plus some young men who were to be apprenticed, stay in Erebor and work with the Dwarves there.

Thranduil had provided several copies of drawings and plans of what he remembered of the Old Dale, and Bard and wanted to see it restored in just that fashion and style. Ori had come to Dale for a day or two, when the drawings and lists were being made, to translate one set into Khuzdul, for the Dwarves to use to begin to gather materials.

Bard was very keen to keep the style of architecture the same, plus add some touches that showed evidence of both their Elven and Dwarvish neighbors. He gave one of the copies to Balin, so the Dwarves would have the winter to cut what stone they could, and to know the dimensions needed. The basic building of the stone structures would be the Dwarves’ reparation for what was wrought on their cities by Smaug. Anything decorative, or additional touches would be paid for by Dale.

Old Ben had done an excellent job of providing them with a rough estimate of how much stone and building supplies, might be needed, which he presented to Balin. Immediate plans were made to repair and secure the walls surrounding the city of Dale, Erebor would provide the stone and assist in the repairs, as time was of the essence, to secure the city before winter. The Dwarven builders would come to help rebuild the homes, as much as possible during the winter, then continue the work in earnest, in the spring.

There was something Bard wanted as soon as possible. He commissioned the Dwarves to make two monuments to be placed on Dale. One for the dead, to be placed on the mass grave on the field, and another for the missing to be placed near the Market Square. The Dwarves accepted the job, and offered to make a matching one for the Elves, if Thranduil was willing, and he was. Bard then asked that a third marker be placed to commemorate the Dwarves that died during the Battle, as they all fought the Enemy.

Even though they only focused on pertinent and immediate issues, the talks were endless and exhausting. Overall, Bard was pleased with his first performance in such a situation. He stood completely on his own, never looking to Thranduil once.

Thranduil and Galion weren’t idle during the week. Galion took copious notes throughout, and during breaks and in the evenings, he went over things with Percy, to assist in his training as Bard’s Aide. They worked well together; Galion had a good rapport with both Percy and Hilda. He saw the potential in the couple, and set himself to the task of grooming them to bring credit to their city. Thranduil and Balin spent quite a bit of time coming up with a fair price to supply Erebor with different goods and services from the Woodland Realm for the winter through the first harvest.

On the second day of the meetings, Thranduil received his necklace, the Gems of Lasgalen.

 

~o0o~

 

Before Balin and Thranduil began their negotiations that morning, Ori left the meeting room and returned with a lovely carved wooden box. Bard saw Thranduil and Galion sit at complete attention, eyes widened. They were silent, when it was placed in front of the Elvenking. Balin was giving a short speech, but Bard could tell Thranduil wasn’t hearing a word. Galion was acknowledged Balin’s words on his King’s behalf, as Thranduil sat like a statue, looking down at it.

The Elvenking gave the impression of complete dignity and calm when he came out of his reverie, and said all the proper words of gratitude. But Bard knew his Elf’s “tell” by now. A vertical line, between his brows, would appear when he was struggling to keep control of himself. It got deeper when Thranduil lightly traced the carving on the box. He made as if to open it, then stopped, and shook his head slightly. “Lord Galion, would you please put this with my things? I deeply appreciate the return of my jewels. The Woodland Realm will be happy to receive this heirloom of my House.”

There was more. In payment for the aid given to the Dwarves when Smaug first came to Erebor, Ori presented Thranduil with a small box full of jewels, and another, larger box of gold. This was an unexpected gift, and Thranduil didn’t hide his surprise and pleasure at them. He showed some of the jewels to Bard, who was impressed. They were beautiful, as they sparkled in the light. Thranduil surprised everyone, by placing several of the stones into the chest with the gold, and closing the lid.

Thranduil addressed Balin and Ori, saying. “I deeply appreciate your kind gesture, on behalf of my Kingdom. This is a pleasant surprise, as I was not expecting any sort of payment. Aiding the injured and suffering of all Free Peoples in need, was simply the right thing to do. I accept your gift gladly, but I would like to make a request regarding the gold, and these selected jewels.” He turned the chest back toward the Dwarves, who were puzzled by Elvenking’s actions. Thranduil continued, explaining:

“As you know, the former Captain of my Guard, Tauriel is now a permanent subject of Bard, King of Dale. Her banishment was required by my law, due to her actions against my person. I am sure your King understands: I must always uphold the laws of our land regardless of extenuating circumstances, or my own personal wishes.  Tauriel may no longer be counted as a citizen of the Woodland Realm, but she grew up as my ward, remains my adopted daughter, and will forever be counted as a member of my family. I ask that you please take this chest you have so generously offered me, and place it in a vault for her personal use, as part of her inheritance."

Everyone in the room, was stunned into silence. Obviously, the Dwarves had no idea of her relationship to the Elvenking. Bard was surprised for a moment, but then saw the wisdom and generosity of it. If Thranduil were to present this to her personally, it would seem like he was trying to buy his way into her affections outright, or offer it as a consolation prize for banishing her. This way, it was simply what it was – a father looking out for his daughter. The Dwarves seemed to understand this, and readily agreed.

Bard was even more surprised, when two additional chests of gold and jewels were presented to him. He started to protest, but Gandalf raised his hand to stop him, encouraging Balin to explain.

These chests were not for him at all. They belonged to Sigrid and Tilda, to do with as they pleased, once they reach adulthood. They were Princesses of Dale, Gandalf reminded Bard, and this was appropriate, he accepted gratefully on their behalf. This would mean Sigrid and Tilda were now independently wealthy young ladies, with power and freedom to choose their own lives. Bain was the heir, and would inherit Bard’s personal fortune, but this put his daughters on more equal footing; they would never be dependent on Bain or anyone for their well-being. Bard dared not look at Thranduil, but he suspected that somehow, he was behind this.

 

~o0o~

 

Four of the five days of meetings were now over. The actual negotiations were done (thank the Valar, and all the Stars above!).  Dáin will be present tomorrow morning for the final reading of all the agreements and the signings of each copy, made in the three different languages. This was expected to be finished by early afternoon, to allow the guests to rest and prepare for tomorrow night’s feast. Thranduil had sent for Feren, to command both camps in their absence. He will stay on when Thranduil and Bard travel to the Woodland Realm for the memorial services, and more importantly, their joining.

They were now on their way home, Bard riding _Fînlossen,_ his white stallion, while Thrandiul was astride _Naurmôr,_ the beautiful black stallion brought from his Kingdom. As they rode together, they talked little. Bard, because he was weary from all mental strain, and Thranduil was quiet and pensive.  He had been like this, since he’d been given the wooden box.  Bard hadn’t brought up the subject, after his initial congratulations. His guess was, Thranduil needed some privacy with his thoughts for a while, and he wanted to respect that.

By the time they returned to the camp each night, it was past dinnertime, and the children had only a few minutes to visit with Thranduil and Galion before they were off to baths and bed. Bard would only stay a few more minutes for some quiet kisses, and then he was off, too.

This evening, he needed some quiet, so Bard had asked Tauriel not to bring them; he would meet with them later. He followed Thranduil into his tent, and after holding each other for a few moments, settled down into the chairs for a drink.

“Thranduil?” Bard was slouching in his chair, eyes were closed, head back, legs stretched out, holding his drink.

“Yes?”

“This ‘Kinging’ thing is hard fucking work.”

“That is put rather crudely, but yes. It really is. And, do you have any ‘creative words’ to describe your first experience with treaties?”

“If I had the energy to think about it, I could peel paint off the walls.” Bard said, not moving,  “But, since I don’t, I’ll say: This ‘Kinging’ thing is hard fucking work.”

"Such pearls of wisdom, _Meleth_ _nîn_ ," he heard his Elf laugh. “I wish I could say you won’t be doing a great deal of this, but this is what most of ‘Kinging’ is, I am afraid. Even though you are used to physical labor, you are realizing this kind of work is even more taxing.”

“You’re right. I’m exhausted from thinking so much! All I did was sit in a room and talk, for four days, and I’m almost as drained as I was the night of the Battle!” Bard marveled. He sat up straighter and took a long drink. “Oh, good.  You gave me the strong stuff.”

“I am proud of how you conducted yourself, Bard.”

“I appreciate it. I didn’t expect to get as much as we did. But I’m not sorry I accepted it. Dale needs the money. I was only going to ask for what we needed, but now we have a reserve in case of bad crops or we need additional defense. It also might help me figure out what to do with Laketown. It was all worth it.”

“I was hoping you would get more. I wonder if Mithrandir contributed to their generous offer.”

“I was wondering if you 'contributed' to Gandalf’s contribution, actually. Did you?” Bard asked, opening one eye, slightly.

Thranduil snickered, again. “I love how express yourself, _Meleth nîn._ I am sorry to disappoint you, but I did not.”

“You mean, you didn’t suggest the gift for the girls, either?”

Thranduil looked at Bard out of the corner of his eye. “Perhaps I _might_ have mentioned it to Mithrandir.” He took a drink. “Still, I am glad the Dwarves made the gift; it was right that it come from them. My Kingdom has given a great deal to Dale, without expectation of payment. This is a way for them to contribute, as well. I believe Master Bofur’s affection for Tilda, and Sigrid’s work with the injured Dwarves, also had something to do with it. You have raised excellent children, Bard. They deserve this and more.”

"They think highly of Tauriel, too.  And Legolas; your son tried save Thorin, by throwing him that big sword.”

"He did?  That story I did not hear."

"Ask Balin sometime. He's the one who told me.  Don’t ask his brother just yet: Dwalin has a hard time with Thorin's death, still."

Bard got up, and bent over Thranduil to kiss him. “Thank you, love, for seeing to my girls.  That money is _theirs,_ and I won't allow it to be used for a dowry, either. I don’t care how other countries do it - my girls will never be thought of as chattel - something to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, or to make a political match.

"I haven’t had a chance to tell you what a lovely thing you did, for Tauriel, too." He kissed his Elf again, more thoroughly, then looked into his eyes. He enjoyed seeing them sparkle in the lamplight; the warm glow reflected in blue-grey depths. He loved this beautiful Elf, who was smiling up at him, loving him right back.

Thranduil got up, and put their cups aside, and held him in his arms, and enjoyed the warmth and touch of each other for several minutes.

“I love you, Thranduil.” Bard would never get tired of saying it. “I love you so much.”

“And I adore you.” He felt a kiss on his temple.

“Do you realize we will be wed in three days’ time?” Bard whispered into his neck.

“You will be my husband. And your life will forever change. He pulled back and looked at him. “I want you to be certain about what this means for you, _Meleth nîn_. You will be giving up the gift of Men, and I know we have discussed this, several times, but…”

Bard gently pulled his Elf’s head down with his hands and kissed his forehead. “I _have_ thought about it, a great deal. It will be hard, I can’t begin to think how much, to outlive my children, or my grandchildren. I don’t know what or how to tell them about that yet, but I don’t think we have to for many years. They’re not old enough to understand any of this, now, but the time is right, we will handle it, together. All right?” He kissed Thranduil on the mouth smoothing his fingers through the Elvenking’s hair.

Thranduil, after kissing him back, told him. “Please understand, Bard. When the time comes to say farewell to your children, you will not be doing it alone. I will be there with beside you, and I shall mourn with you. _”_

Bard paused and looked at him. He was right. By the time Sigrid, Bain and Tilda would be leaving Middle Earth to join their mother, Thranduil will have loved them just as much as he did. He took off Thranduil’s diadem, swept silky blonde hair off his Elf’s face and put their foreheads together. “No. I won’t be alone. And I will never be alone again.”

Thranduil held Bard’s wrists as they stood together for a moment. “May I ask something of you, Bard?” he whispered.

“Anything.”

The Elf sighed. “I have not opened the box…”

Bard nodded. “Do you want me there?”

Thranduil pulled his head back a little to meet his gaze, unable to speak.

He took Thranduil by both hands. “Where is it, love?”

“On top of my trunk.”

“Do you want me to bring it out, or go in there?”

“Let us go in there, please. I need privacy.”

“Whatever you need. Come on,” he said gently.

Bard brought them into the sleeping chamber, and sat Thranduil down and they removed their boots. After Thranduil situated himself against his headboard, Bard got the box, handed it to him, and sat next to him. “Whenever you’re ready. Take all the time you want.”

Thranduil put the box in his lap, blew out several deep breaths, then ran his fingers over the latch, and slowly opened it.

Inside was the most beautiful necklace Bard had ever seen. The stones were brighter than white, and so clear, they seemed to glow, when reflecting the lamplight. When Thranduil first told him of the gems, and how they seemed to capture pure starlight, he wasn’t exaggerating. He couldn’t stop his gasp, but tried to be silent and still, allowing Thranduil to set the pace.

The Elf did nothing for several minutes; just looked at them, unmoving. With shaking hands, he reached down to touch it, his fingers tracing the design of the mithril, running over the smooth diamonds, sparkling against the dark blue velvet. Bard saw Thranduil’s lips move, saying silent words to himself, and his eyes were shining as they were filling with tears. One had escaped and dropped off his chin, unchecked. He saw the Elf’s chest heave as his breathing became shallow and rapid.

Bard whispered, “Are you all right, love?"

Silence. Thranduil’s hands were shaking even more, as fingers circled each stone, as he stared at them intently, with wide eyes. Bard heard soft whimpers emerge from the Elf, and he was getting alarmed. He’d never seen Thranduil, or anyone like this, and he didn’t know what to do.

He gently placed his hand on the Elf’s arm. “Thranduil?” he whispered. He started rubbing his hand along Thranduil’s forearm.

Eventually, Thranduil became aware of Bard, and turned his head toward him, but his eyes didn't see him.  He seemed in a frightened, dreamlike state, but slowly, as Bard continued to rub his arm, he focused more on the Bowman’s face.

“Thranduil, can you tell me what’s wrong?” he whispered.

“There was... blood on it. It was broken and covered in her blood. I heard screaming. There was so much screaming...” The Elf said, in a thin, faraway voice, still breathing rapidly, almost panting.  He still didn't meet Bard's eyes.

Bard kept rubbing his arm, trying to gently bring Thranduil to the present.  He whispered softly to his Elf.  “It’s all right. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” He reached to the bedside table and poured Thranduil a cup of water. “Here, drink this, all right?” The Elf put his hands on the cup, but they were shaking, so Bard helped him a little. “That’s it, love. This will help.”

He put the cup back on the table, and turned to him. “Can I take your hand? Would it be all right?” Bard laid his hand out, palm up, and waited. Thranduil stared at it, then slowly placed his hand, still shaking, on top of Bard’s.  He waited patiently, and let the Elf decide when he wanted to grip it. They sat for a few moments, and then Thranduil curled his fingers around Bard’s. “That’s good, love. Now, can you slow down your breathing for me? Come on, take a deep breath…good. Do it with me, again.” Thranduil kept looking toward Bard’s face, lost and frightened, and kept doing what he was told.

“Thranduil, if you want to talk about it, you might feel better, but don’t do anything unless you feel ready, all right?”

The Elf finally looked into Bard's eyes, and nodded his head. As he came more to himself, Bard saw his eyes look down, with an expression of embarrassment and shame. 

“Hey now, listen to me, love. Look at me. None of that. You have nothing to be ashamed about. Do you understand? Nothing. It’s all right; believe me, you’re all right. Let’s just sit here for a while, and be quiet, if you want, yeah? Do you want the box closed back up?”

Thranduil shook his head.

“All right, we’ll leave it open then.”

They sat, holding hands, while Thranduil continued bringing his breathing under control.

“It’s beautiful, Thranduil.” Bard quietly observed.

“It was even more beautiful when Mírelen, wore it.” A faint whisper.

“I’ll bet even this necklace wasn’t as beautiful as she was, was it?”

Thranduil gave a sad smile. “No, it was not. It did not even compare to her.”  He was calming down, and seemed more present.

“Did she have blond hair like you and Legolas?” As soon as he said it, Bard wondered if it was a mistake.

But Thranduil surprised him and answered, “No. She had dark hair and dark eyes. Her hair was wavy, and framed her face...” He swallowed. “My son inherited my hair and eye color, but his face, his smile, and his ways are his mother’s. He inherited her courage and determination, too.”

Bard squeezed the Elf’s hand. He wanted to try to help Thranduil open up about this, so his tone became lighter.  “I’m afraid I must disagree. I’ve never met anyone with more tenacity and bravery than the Elf I’m about to marry. I think Legolas got that from his father.”

“Thank you, but she had courage separate from what you perceive mine to be. I cannot describe it, but she had courage I do not. You have the same in you. She was different than me; not afraid to shine outwardly with her heart. Her love changed me from what I was. Then she died, and it felt like much of me died with her. I could not stop it.”  

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.” Bard said. “I’ll bet she loved the necklace you gave her.”

Thranduil looked down at it, sitting in the box. “She did. I wanted to give her something precious and beautiful, to try to show her how much I truly loved her. I wanted the stones to be pure and bright, like she was, to me. Even then, it was a poor imitation of my feelings. It was so inadequate – does that make sense?” He looked at Bard. “It was as if I wanted my heart to be in it, so she could wear it around her. I am sure it sounds foolish…”

“Not at all, I promise you.” He squeezed Thranduil’s hand again. “Was she born in your Kingdom?”

“No, she was not. She was from Rivendell. I had gone there for a visit, and to discuss some matters with Elrond. Mírelen was a lady-in-waiting to Elrond’s daughter, Arwen. Several days after I arrived, I was sitting in the garden, reading, when Arwen and her ladies entered, talking and laughing about some such thing. Elrond’s daughter is very beautiful. She is called The Evening Star, among my people. My father told me she resembles her Great-Great Grandmother, Luthien, who was King Thingol's daughter.  There is something special about Arwen, to be sure, but I only had eyes for the dark-haired maiden beside her.” Thranduil had a faraway look, as he spoke of meeting his wife.

"Can you tell me more, love?" Bard encouraged him, softly.

“Arwen came to where I was sitting, and made the proper introductions, of her ladies, and each extended their hands in greeting. I knew, the minute I kissed her hand, she was my One. There are no words to fully explain it.”

Bard chuckled softly, and shook his head. “Oh, you don’t have to try, love. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“It was similar when you first met your Mattie?”

“The first time I saw her, I nearly fell out of my boat!" Bard grinned. “I’ll tell you about it, but another time. I’d really like to hear more about Mírelen, but only if you’re up for it, all right?” Thranduil looked over at him, and nodded.

“Go on, then,” Bard encouraged him.

“As time passed during my visit, I became sure of my feelings for her, and I asked her parents for permission to write her. They were good people, but they had doubts about the King of Greenwood marrying their daughter. They did not want her to move away.”

“Are they still alive?” Bard asked.

“They sailed West shortly after Mírelen was killed. They lived in Rivendell, but after her older brother, a Guard for Lord Elrond, was killed, they moved into our Palace, to be near their daughter, and to see their grandson.  As much as they loved Legolas, it was too hard for them stay."

“How did Mírelen feel about you, when you first met? Was it ‘love at first sight,’ for her, too?”

Thranduil, for the first time since the box was opened, smiled a little. “Oh, no. She thought I was pretentious, and, to use your words, ‘an arrogant git.’ She was not interested at all.”

This got a laugh from Bard. “Ah, she made you work for her, did she?”

The Elf looked thoughtful, “I suppose she did. I went back to my home, and started writing her letters. I thought, if I sent her poetry and a lot of flowery words, it would convince her to change her mind.”

“You write poetry? I’m surprised.”

“You should be, because I do not. I sent her poems I found in our library, and sent her quotes from some of my favorite books, making my words seem like theirs. I did not think anything I wrote myself would convince her I was sincere.”

“What did she do? Did she like them?”

“Not at all. She sent them back, and wrote that she would not consider a suitor who would not use his own words.” Thranduil laughed a little. “She also wrote, on margins of my letters, the names of all the books I stole passages from.” He winced.

Bard threw back his head and laughed, as Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Clever girl! I like her! What did you do then?”

“I had no choice, but to send letters I composed myself. But, I had no idea what to write, so it was difficult. I had never done this before, and I did not know what to say that would convince her to marry me.”

“What did you decide on?”

“The first letter I composed, was all about the size of my Kingdom, my Army, and the size of my personal fortune.”

“The ‘Size Matters” thing? Really?’” Bard jabbed him lightly with his elbow, grinning.

Thranduil gave him a wry look, out of the corner of his eyes. “I was nervous, so I asked Galion to read it before I sent it, to ask what he thought.”

“Which was?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Sire, the best place to send this, is into the fireplace.’  I yelled at him, I am sorry to say.  I was frustrated."

“Poor Galion.” Bard laughed. “What happened?’

“After I apologized to him, he asked if we could sit for a while, and we talked about the Kingdom. He asked me questions: Was the size of the Greenwood what I loved best about it? Why not? Was it the Trees? Which trees? Did I have a few favorites? Why were they my favorites?

“As we talked, I realized what Mírelen really wished to know. She wanted to know how I _felt_ about my home, and what I loved about it. I started another letter to her, telling her about my favorite clearing in the Realm, and described the small pool and waterfall, and all the flowers that blossomed there, in the spring.

“I told her about my favorite tree as a child, and the song it would sing to me. It has been my special friend ever since I can remember. I wrote about the time I fell out of it, from near the top, how, it moved its branches together to help break my fall. I still broke my leg, despite it. I had been told was not allowed to climb it, unless Galion or my father was with me, because I was too small to go up very far.”

“Ah. Let me guess: You sneaked out and did it anyway.”

“Well, yes. And I wrote her about that, as well. No one knew where I was, when I fell, so I had to wait on the lower branches with a broken leg, until someone noticed I was gone and came looking for me. The Palace was in an uproar, because the Prince was missing, and they were afraid I had been kidnapped, or worse. The forest, back then, as not as dark or as sick as it is now. There were not as many Orcs or spiders to worry about. Even so, that was a possibility, and the horns blew, and my father’s entire Guard and some of the Army had been quickly summoned to search for me.

“What happened when they found you?” Bard asked him.

“Once they got me down from the tree, and my leg was healed, I had to go and apologize to every soldier who helped look for me. Then I had to clean out all the stalls in the horse barn for two weeks.” Thranduil smiled. “I wrote about that too. Then I sent the letter, to see if it would please her.”

“And did it?”

“It did. She wanted to know me, the _ellon_ , not the King. It has always been difficult for me to share such personal things, ever since I had…been hurt. I had been closed off and taciturn since the War, but when she was with me, things were different. I was different."

“Obviously, she agreed to marry you.”

“Yes, she did, after a long courtship, and many, many letters. She came here, and in the King's Garden, Elrond officiated at the wedding feast where we spoke our pledges and invoked the name of Eru Ilúvatar."  Thranduil's eyes had a faraway look. "After the feast, I took to that same clearing, and, by the waterfall, surrounded by all the flowers of spring, we were wed.” He smiled.

"It sounds beautiful." Bard squeezed his fingers. "An unforgettable day."

"It truly was, Bard." Thranduil became concerned. "Does this bother you, for me to speak of this?"

Bard brought the Elf's hand to his lips, and kissed it. "Absolutely not. I want to hear all your happy memories, love.  So, when did you have your son?"

“Several hundred years later, we agreed to have Legolas. I gave her this necklace on her first Begetting Day after he was born, to show her how much I loved her; how proud I was of her, for bringing us our son.” Thranduil looked away, and grew silent, lost in thought.

“You ‘agreed’ to have Legolas? I don’t understand.” Bard’s brows furrowed.

“An Elf can only be conceived, when the couple truly wish it. From the moment Legolas was conceived, he made his _fëa_ known to his mother and me. In the Elven culture, we celebrate the day an Elf is conceived, not the day of birth.”

“That’s interesting. It’s different than how Men do these things.”

“I remember. I attended several celebrations of the day of birth of your ancestors.”

“Mírelen must have been surprised at the necklace.”

“She was. I had sent the jewels and my designs for the necklace to Moria, to have it fashioned out of mithril. The box was also a gift to her; I made it and carved the designs on it, myself. I gave them to her at the feast held for her that evening.” He seemed far away, lost in memories. “I will never forget her face when she opened the box,” he smiled. “We danced under the stars that night, and even they were lovely as she was…” His voice trailed off.

After a while, Bard entwined their fingers. “Thranduil, can you tell me why you were saying those things, about seeing blood and the screaming? I know you might not want to, but I really think it will help you, love.” He prodded gently.

Thranduil’s eyebrows furrowed, and the line appeared between his brows, again. He looked straight ahead, and he swallowed several times.

“It’s all right, I’m here for as long as you need me.” Bard encouraged him.

“It…it was the same thing as the Battle, Bard.” He whispered. “I saw it, broken, on the ground, with her blood on it. I heard the screams of my wife, and the screams of my son from that day… I do not understand it, Bard. Like before, I was here, and there at once, and..."  His face looked tormented, and Bard’s eyes swam.

Bard lifted his hand from Thranduil’s and stroked his hair, gently. “Can you tell me what happened? I know it’s hard, love, but maybe if you bring this into the open, a little of the darkness might leave you. Can you trust me?” Bard asked. Thranduil nodded. “That’s good. I’m proud of you. Take all the time you need, love.”

After a few minutes, he started again. “I- I was fighting the Orcs that attacked us in the forest, and I heard her scream my name behind me. I turned and saw…”

Thranduil swallowed. “I saw…her guards being slaughtered, and this Orc p-pulling my wife and my little son…” His voice broke. “She fell off her horse, and I tried to get to them in time. I tried s-so hard, Bard. I truly did.” He stopped. Bard kept stroking his hair, and took his hand. After giving him an encouraging nod, Thranduil did his best to continue. “Feren saw it, too, and was beside me, killing the Orcs in my path. I saw her, trying to fight off... She had been wearing her favorite blue riding dress. I always loved that color on her... “Thranduil’s voice trailed off, for a moment, and he grew silent.

Bard waited patiently, and after several minutes, he spoke, again.  “She was on her hands and knees, crouching over Legolas, to protect him. My son was screaming, and he was so afr…” The Elf’s voice was broken, incredibly sad.

 _Oh, Valar…_ Bard thought, blinking back tears of his own.  

Thranduil’s eyes were filled with tears, and was he was trembling a little. He took some more slow breaths, and then went on. “She was trying to protect our son, until I could get there. She… She was keeping it away from Legolas…” Tears moved from his eyes, down his face. “It grabbed her by the hair and…pulled her head up and raised its sword… She screamed for me… Oh, Bard… She was so _afraid!"_ He scrunched his eyes shut. “I jumped farther than I have ever done in my entire life, and cut the Orc’s head off.” His eyes were still closed, and the tears were flowing. “I thought I had… I killed it, but I was not fast enough to stop it from…” He was forcing the words out between sobs, breathing heavily.

“H-he sliced her throat, and she... I tried to hold her, and to stop the bleeding… she looked at me… she tried to talk to me…she could not speak… I watched the life drain out of my wife, who I loved more than my own life... I was too late, Bard. _I was just a moment too late!_ She needed me to save her, and I could not.”

Bard gently picked up the box from Thranduil’s lap, and set it at the bottom of the bed, and gathered Thranduil into his arms, who began to cry harder than Bard had ever seen anybody cry. His body was wracked with cries, that seemed to come from a terrible, foreign place, and not from this beautiful Elf at all; they were powerful sobs, of pent-up grief that had festered for countless years.

Bard held him tightly, gently rocking him, as his own eyes stung, and his heart broke for him.   _It's too cruel,_ he thought. _To give your utmost to save your soul-mate, only to be a second too late..._ He had often resented the fact that he never had a chance to say goodbye to Mattie, that he wasn't there when she died.  Bard now wondered if perhaps it was a kindness, if such things could _ever_  be considered such.

Galion must have come into Thranduil’s tent for something, because he suddenly appeared at the sleeping chamber’s entrance, eyes wide, looking worried. He took in the sight of them, and the open box with the necklace, and quickly surmised the situation.

As Bard held the weeping Elvenking, Galion soberly nodded his approval to Bard. _This is good,_ his look said. Bard then mouthed the words, _‘My children,’_ to him. Galion nodded once more, then gently removed the box from the bed, closed it, and set it on Thranduil’s trunk. Then he quietly tiptoed out.

Bard kept gently stroking and kissing the Elvenking’s hair, and let him take as much time as he needed. Thranduil shifted suddenly and cried out in pain, and Bard saw his glamour was gone. _From his upset?_ He carefully positioned him so his face didn’t touch anything, and continued to soothe him, praying fervently for these tears to heal his Elf’s hurts.

He hoped so, but only time will tell.

When the Thranduil finally calmed down, Bard whispered to him, and urged him to replace his glamour. Once done, he leaned against Bard again, not speaking for a long while.

When he thought it would all right, Bard got up, and brought Thranduil a wet cloth to wash his face. He removed his own tunic, then helped Thranduil out of his robes, and set them on the stool by the wardrobe. After dimming the lamps, he went to the other side of the bed, pulled back the covers, and crawled in, encouraging Thranduil to get under the sheets and blankets with him, which he did without a word. Bard gathered Thranduil to him, with his arm and his leg wrapped around him.

With a kiss to his temple, Bard settled in with his face in the back of his Elf’s neck, and they lay there quietly, getting comfortable, relaxing and finding comfort with each other. After several minutes, Thranduil turned over to face him, and urged Bard on his back, then lay his head on the Bowman’s shoulder, with his arm draped over him. Bard wrapped his arms around his Elf, kissed his hair, and closed his eyes.

 _“Gi melin, Bard.”_ A faint whisper.

“And I love you.” He brought Thranduil’s hand up to kiss it. “I'm here."

“You were right, before.” His Elf whispered.

“About what, love?” He whispered back, into his hair.

“When you told me sometimes I would miss my wife, and it would be painful. But I do not love you any less.”

“Thank you for telling me about her, Thranduil.” He kissed the top of the Elvenking’s head again. “You’re worn through, love. Try to relax, and get some sleep, all right?” 

Before ten minutes had passed, both were sound asleep.

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS;

 _Fînlossen_ – Snowy mane  
_Naurmôr –_ Black Fire  
_Gi melin, Bard_ – I love you, Bard


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Announcements are made, and invitations are issued for the big day. Will the children approve? What will Hilda and Percy do? 
> 
> Bard and his family attend the feast at Erebor. Bain has a heart-to-heart with his Da, and King Dain has a surprise revelation for them.
> 
> One more chapter after this, and it will be the big day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there... The wedding's coming soon, and so will "The Elf Thing."
> 
> A very sweet series, about a teacher and a school administrator in our Barduil verse is called ["Not So Single Dad Stories"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/428656). It's written by [Genius_626](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Genius_626/pseuds/Genius_626/works?fandom_id=873394). This author has also written several more stories in the Hobbit universe, including the [Barduil Seasons](http://archiveofourown.org/series/572116) two-part series. I found them both very sweet!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I welcome all comments!

 

 

Thranduil rolled over, and threw his arm over Bard, tangled their legs together and drowsed. Bard felt so warm; it was hard not to be drawn to it. He nuzzled into Bard’s neck, sighed and drifted back to sleep…

“My Lord? I am sorry to disturb you, but you must get up.”

“Mmmph,” Thranduil answered, not moving. He would have stayed where he was, but Bard had stirred beneath him, taking his arm from around him and stretched, yawning. Over Thranduil’s vocal objections, Bard began to sit up, and rub his eyes.

“Come on, love. We’ve got to get going if we’re going to make it to Erebor on time.” Bard was shaking his shoulders. Thranduil, who always groggy in the morning, protested, groaning, and tried to snuggle down again. He heard Bard’s laugh, “It'll take forever to comb out all that hair."

At this, Thranduil finally opened his eyes and raised his head. “It does not take that long to comb out my hair!”

“Oh, really? Suppose you take a gander in your looking glass, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s a rat’s nest; it’s all over the place.” Bard challenged, with an eyebrow raised. "If you weren't so pretty, you'd be scary."

Muttering, he dragged himself up and went over to his wardrobe to look into his mirror. “What is the meaning of this? My hair looks fine!” He gave Bard a sleepy, nasty look.

“Aye, that’s true, but you got your lazy arse out of bed, didn’t you?” Said Bard, smirking.

“What if I told you your hair looked like a black Warg’s, O King of Dale?” He countered.

 “I'd have no trouble believing you."  The Warg in question replied.  "Now, come on, we’ve got to wash and dress, love."  Throwing back the covers, he sat up, facing away from him, and stretched his arms wide, the muscles of his arms and back rippling.

Thranduil looked him up and down, appreciatively. There was nothing about Bard’s body he didn't love. He loved how different it was from his. Where Thranduil was light and lean, Bard was dark, slightly shorter than Thranduil, and his muscles were beautifully defined.  He loved Bard’s black hair when it was untamed, surrounding his features, and those warm, inviting eyes.

Last night, with all of its upset, would have been impossible to get through if he hadn’t been surrounded by Bard’s strong arms. He loved the King of Dale even more, if possible, because Bard didn’t make him feel like he had to hide his sadness over losing his wife, to spare his feelings. What a wonderful thing - to celebrate the wonderful things about their lives before, and look forward to making new memories together? Thranduil sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Mírelen for allowing him to keep her memory alive. The pain was there, but at this point it was bearable, and, with Bard's acceptance and support, it will Become easier.

“My Lord?” Galion appeared at the entrance of the sleeping chamber.

“What is it, Galion?”

“The children of the King of Dale request permission to break their fast with you before you leave.”

Thranduil and Bard looked at each other, panicking. Ignoring Galion’s protests to wait a moment, Bard jumped off the bed and scrambled to get at his clothes, and stubbed his toe on the corner of the trunk.

“Bloody fuck!” Screeching loudly, he began to hop around, awkwardly.

Galion determined that Bard’s toe wasn’t broken, then told them, “According to the message I just received, they are washing and dressing now, and should be here in a quarter of an hour. Please, do not rush to the point of hurting yourself, My Lord.”

Bard, sitting on the bed, holding his sore toe, said ruefully. “ _Now_ , you tell me. I only have yesterday’s clothes. I’ll have to head back to my tent before we go to the mountain, Thranduil.”

“Pardon me for taking the liberty, but I have asked that some be brought to you, Lord Bard. Lady Hilda and Lord Percy will also be joining us, and she is bringing them."

“They _**what?**_ "  Bard gasped. “Oh, shit...Hilda knows I stayed here last night!” He looked at Thranduil in alarm. “ She’ll kill me! She’ll kill us both!”

Thranduil assured Galion they would be ready, and the Aide went out to arrange the table. He turned back to his soon-to-be husband, and raised his eyebrows; thoroughly enjoying his trepidation. “Really, Bard, it isn’t as if Percy and Hilda do not know we are together.”

“I know, but…”

“Bard, you are acting like a child, who got caught being naughty.  What exactly do you think she would do; turn you over her knee, and spank you?"

“That's exactly what she would do! You should be worried, too. It wasn't _my_ cock she threatened to cut off, was it?” Bard said, exasperated that Thranduil wasn’t as rattled as he was.

Thranduil just rolled his eyes. "Bard, you forget; I am surrounded by armed guards."

"Do you seriously think that would stop her?"

Thranduil considered.  "Perhaps not."

After washing and dressing, Bard tried to tame his hair, until Thranduil couldn’t stand it anymore, and demanded the brush and ordered him to sit. With painstaking care, he removed all the knots and tangles, and secured the front and sides into Bard’s customary half-ponytail. Once he was done, his hair still looked thick and glorious, but it had been coaxed into gentle waves that caressed his shoulders, and Thranduil smiled and kissed the top of his head

“I see this breakfast as the perfect opportunity to announce our intent to marry in three days’ time, and invite them. Perhaps, if I were to make, as they say, and ‘honest man’ out of you, my nether regions will be safe from Lady Hilda’s knife, do you not think?” The corner of his mouth turned upwards.

“That may well be, but they are bound to say something. Be prepared.”

Thranduil said dismissively. “I am sure it will be nothing I cannot handle. I am a powerful Elvenking.” He tossed his newly combed hair. 

“We’ll see.” Bard kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And, dressed, Bard went out to greet his children who were just coming in, with Thranduil right behind him.

Percy and Hilda, came after Tauriel and children arrived, thank the Valar, which avoided any confrontations. But he made a point to take Hilda aside.

“Lady Hilda,” he said, after asking to speak with her privately. “I want you to know that Elves do not engage in relations outside of marriage, so please do not think Bard and I were imprudent. I had received something from the Dwarves that, at one time, belonged to my wife, and I was… distressed. Bard did not wish me to be alone.”

Hilda scrutinized his face, and seemed satisfied that he was telling the truth. “Are you all right?”

“I was upset, but I will be fine. Bard helped me get through it.”

"Bard's a new King, and our folk like their gossip, and I'm not going to let anything happen that undermines our boy." She put her hand on his arm. “I understand, though, just don't make a habit of it.  And don’t ask me to stop worrying about all of you.”  She got her message across with a loving smile, but with firm eyes.

He kissed Hilda's hand. “I would not dream of causing harm to Bard, My Lady, and I admire you for wanting to protect him.  You are an important part of Bard’s family, and your approval means a great deal to me.” He smiled at her, and told him, sincerely. "I love him, My Lady." 

After she hugged him, she cleared her throat a few times, she nodded. “Now, let’s get some breakfast, so you two can be off, straightaway.”

The breakfast was boisterous. They all dug into the food that was set before them, and told Thranduil and Bard what they’ve been missing in the camp all week. The children were excited about their trip to the Lonely Mountain, later that day.

Thranduil felt tired from last night, but more at peace. His observation to Bard that he wanted the necklace, for different reasons, now, was true. He hadn’t anticipated those horrible flashbacks, but he hadn’t been alone, thanks to his Bowman, who helped him through it.

Bard gave Thranduil exactly he needed: He listened; he didn’t try to “fix it;" he didn’t judge Thranduil’s feelings, or try to change them. How many people know to do that? It had been so difficult to talk about his wife’s death, and if Bard had done any of those things, it would have stifled him, and shut him down.

He had woken up in Bard’s arms this morning, and the joy of it couldn’t be contained. He was in love and about to marry again, whereas, just two months ago, he’d been alone, miserable, and isolated. Life can shock and scar a person at a moment's notice, but it can also bring surprises of joy and light...

Thranduil looked around the table, smiling at all their faces, his gaze resting lastly on the King of Dale. They looked at each other, for a few moments, then he nodded to Bard, who winked at him, then stood up from the table and cleared his throat.

“Thranduil and I are glad you’re here, because there’s something we’d like to tell you.” Quickly glancing at Thranduil, he continued, while the Elf steepled his hands together against his mouth. There were butterflies in his stomach and he grew nervous. What if the children objected?

“As you’ve noticed, children, we’ve been spending a lot of time with Thranduil, haven’t we?” Bain and Sigrid nodded their heads in agreement. Percy and Hilda looked expectant, but not surprised. Tilda was just curious.

“If we tell you something, do you think you can keep it a secret? It’s important that you not say anything until it’s all over, all right?” Everyone nodded. “Promise?” They nodded again.

“Good. Well, three days hence, we’re all coming here for a special luncheon. Gandalf will be here, too, and he’ll be marrying us, and we want you to be there.”

Tauriel and Galion said nothing, Hilda and Percy said nothing, no one said anything. They were all waiting for the children to react.

Said children froze for a moment or two, and then exploded with noise.

  
Sigrid jumped up and kissed and hugged her Da. Bain grinned at Thranduil. “I KNEW IT!” he cried. Thranduil smiled back at him, as Tilda got down from her chair and went over to the Elvenking. “Does this mean you’ll be my Da, too?”

“I think it does, _hênig,_ is that all right with you?” he smiled down at her.

She looked at him for a couple of seconds, thinking carefully. “Do you love my Da?"

"Very much.  I care about you, too."

"Could I get my own Elk?”

Thranduil laughed, and kissed her forehead. “Not for a while, I am afraid. I have several, but they are still growing, and in the midst of their schooling, just like you.” He booped her nose. She reached up to hug him, then went over to her Da, who picked her up.

Percy, who was sitting on his left, eyed him, not frowning, but not smiling, either. He raised his teacup to Thranduil. “Congratulations, son,” he grinned. After Percy and Thranduil clinked cups, each took a long pull at their tea.

Hilda pursed her lips, looked at Thranduil and raised her eyebrow. Pointing at him with her thumb, she asked Bard, “Did you get him pregnant?”

…and the great Elvenking spit his tea out all over, his clothes, the table, and would have gotten Percy, too, if he hadn’t ducked away at the last minute.

 

Once the meal was over, they changed their clothes, and made their way to Erebor. They both were lost in thought, as they rode side by side, but it was a comfortable silence.

Then Thranduil said, “I am glad the children are happy with our news, _Meleth nîn.”_

“Oh, I knew they would be.  They all like you, Tilda especially. She loves you.”

“And I her. She asked for her own Elk, did you hear? I do have one...”

“Thranduil, my daughter is _not_ going to ride one of those things, and that’s final.”

“Whyever not? They would never let her fall.”

“No."

“But they are perfectly safe…”

“Safe? I watched you on your Elk - he was terrifying!"

“He was _supposed_ to be terrifying, Bard.  It was what he was trained for.  That did not mean he was a nasty, uncontrollable animal.  In fact, he was quite gentle, when not in combat…”

“No.”

“But, Bard…”

“Stop whining. I’m sure you’ll find dozens of ways to spoil my children, but my daughter will not ride on a War-Beast.”

“But he would protect her!"

“Protect her? As in, protect her in a battle? My baby will _never_ be in a battle!  Not if there’s a breath in my body, she won’t.”

“I do not blame you for feeling that way. The months after Legolas went out on Patrol, I nearly paced a groove in the floor of my chambers.  Poor Feren; I demanded daily updates as to his safety and whereabouts. I couldn’t stop myself.”

“I’ll bet he hated that.”

“He never found out. At least, I do not think he did. Galion found out, though.”

“What happened?”

“He insisted it was not fair to Legolas, to be singled out in such a way. He also reminded me how much I hated it, when my father did the same thing.  It was also disrespectful to Feren, who was responsible for his safety, along with all the others.  Out in the forest, it is dangerous to be distracted by nepotism.  Galion made me rely on my trust in Feren, to keep him safe.

“So…Feren complained to Galion, then.”

“I suppose he did. I never asked. Once Galion and I spoke, I apologized to Feren, regardless.  He is an excellent Commander, and would never advance Legolas in the rankings, unless he earned it. He has been my friend, and faithful to our kingdom since we were children together, and I had no right to doubt him.”

“Go easy on yourself, love. I don't think it's a matter of your faith in Feren. You were just a parent, afraid for his child.”

“That is true. But, I compromised discipline for personal reasons, and there is no excuse for that; especially in military matters, and in doing so, I could have endangered others."

“I see your point. I’ll be facing that when Bain starts his service. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Trust me, _Meleth nîn:_ you will not. It will be worse when your son faces actual battle, so prepare yourself. You will have to learn how to focus, otherwise someone could be killed, from the distraction. It is not easy."

“Feren’s a good friend to you, Thranduil.”

“He is. So is Galion. He’s been like a father to me, since I lost my own. I rely on his support and guidance more than I can say. I am glad they both will be there, when Mithrandir gives us our blessing.”

“I know how the kids and Percy and Hilda feel about me marrying you, and Galion seems supportive, but what does Feren say?”

“Last week, when I told him of our marriage plans, he objected, strongly."

Bard looked over at him, startled.  "He did?  Why?"

"His first thought was for our Kingdom, as it should be.  He assumed I would give up my Mortality and leave them leaderless, which would make the Kingdom unstable.  I hastily explained the entirety of our situation, and told him about Mírelen, and the Valar’s help."

"Did he believe you?  I mean, I know you wouldn't lie, but it's a lot to take in."  Bard grinned. "Did he faint?"

Thranduil laughed.  "He did not, but he was surprised, and needed a few moments for it all to sink in. Then he was happy for me."

“You said he was there with you, when Mírelen died. He must have been glad to hear all of that.”

“Feren knew how I suffered from her loss, and he struggled with guilt from her death.  He was beside me, and he took Legolas and calmed-"  Thranduil swallowed, and sighed.  Then he changed his line of thinking. "I have asked Feren to stand with me, when we marry; he will keep your ring during the ceremony, and Galion will present my cord for the handfasting.  Feren brought the one he used at his wedding, as is our custom."

Bard smiled at him. “We do the same thing.  Unfortunately Percy and Hilda's went down in flames. Before we left, while you were saying goodbye to the children, I asked Percy to keep your ring, and Hilda will do the cord. She was headed over to the seamstresses, when we left.  

“I am glad they approve,” he smiled. A thought occurred to Thranduil. “Bard?  Do you think they set me up with the tea, this morning?”

Bard rolled his eyes and laughed. “Oh, I _know_ they did!”

 

***************

 

The signing of the trade agreements went smoothly. Only minor changes in wording had to be made, in all three languages. Finally, they were read out loud in their entirety, in Westron, Sindarin, and Khuzdul. The three Kings signed each copy, and after closing remarks, celebrated with a lunch, where the wine and ale flowed freely.

King Thranduil supplied the Dwarves with the food to be served for the feast tonight, as a gesture of thanks for his necklace. He also gave them a wagonload of hops, barley, and yeast, so they could brew ale for the winter, which was accepted gratefully.

King Dáin, to commemorate the reuniting of the Kingdoms, had three livery collars made. They were made of gold, linking the insignias of Erebor, the Woodland realm, and Dale, alternating with emeralds to symbolize the Thranduil’s Kingdom of trees, sapphires to symbolize Dale and Esgaroth, and garnets to symbolize the forges of Erebor. The pendant on each necklace reflected the royal seal of the King for which it was intended. They were beautiful, and were going to be worn on the shoulders of the Kings at the feast this evening.

Now it was time to wait, for the other guests were expected to arrive soon.

Soon, the caravan was seen approaching the Lonely Mountain, surrounded by an Elven escort. Bard could see Tilda, riding in front of Tauriel on her grey gelding, while Sigrid and Bain were astride their own Elven horses, next to Bofur who was riding his chestnut pony.  Percy and Hilda were riding on the seats of the carts bringing the supplies for the feast. Sigrid was still a bit uncomfortable in a saddle, but Bain seemed a natural. Horses were simply not something the residents of Dale had ever used, so this was a new skill Dale would have to learn for their new lives, as farmers and craftsman.

As soon as the children saw their Da, they smiled and waved. Bain got excited, and started to spur his horse forward, but Tauriel sharply reprimanded him to stay with his escort. Excellent, Bard thought. Tauriel was training him to respect and listen to his guards.  He could see Bain realize his mistake and quickly get back in to formation.

Thranduil had been right. Bain will be a better King than his Da. There will be no “catch-ups” for him, and he’ll be ready for the day when Bard retires to live his life in the Woodland Realm with his husband.

Soon, they were across the bridge before the Gates of Erebor, and Tilda was being lifted down and into her Da’s arms. As the others were dismounting and leading the horses away, she gave him a big hug and kiss, and asked, “Where’s Thrandool?”

Bard made a pouty face at her. “I thought it was _me_ you came to see! You sick of me already? Your old Da’s not your favorite, anymore?”

“You're silly!” she lisped, and rolled her eyes. "Of course, I love you, Da.  But where is he?"

“He’s inside, talking with somebody or other. Were you a good girl today? How’s that other front tooth coming?”

“It’s a little bit looser. Maybe it’ll come out while I’m here.”

“Maybe it will.”

“OOH! Guess what? Bofur gave me a gold coin for my tooth! He said Mahal told him I lost a tooth, and he sent Bofur to give me one!  All the Dwarf kids get them, when their teeth fall out, and Mahal said us kids should, too!” She grinned.

“Wasn’t that nice of him! I hope the other children don’t start knocking their own teeth out, just to get some gold…” He winked at her.

“Don’t worry, Da.” Sigrid came up to them, smiling. “Bofur found some sort of excuse to give all the kids one. No one was left out.”

“Good!” he kissed her cheek. “Well, we’d best get inside, then. Don’t you have to give King Thranduil a progress report, Little Bean?”

Tilda nodded seriously.

“Well, we’d best find him, then." Then he whispered, "Remember, don’t say anything about us getting married, all right? You didn’t say anything to anyone today, right?”

She pinched her lips together, and shook her head. Bard grinned at her. “That’s my girl.”

Bard carried her into Erebor, and enjoyed the gasps of all the children. Bain was fascinated by the high ceilings, and pointed to all the angular designs in the architecture. Sigrid just kept looking around, her jaw slack. The Dwarves had been very busy since moving in, and there were vast improvements, even since the funeral. Percy and Hilda were pointing and commenting on the changes, since they were here last.

Bofur came over to them, smiling. “Welcome! How do you like our home?” He asked the children. He was to be ambassador to their family during their stay.

Sigrid said, “I can’t believe how beautiful this is! I’ve looked at this mountain my whole life, and I never imagined such things!” Bofur was pleased at her assessment. “I’m glad you like it, Lady Sigrid. As soon as Tauriel arrives, I would be honored to show you to your rooms.”

Bard thanked the Dwarf for Mahal’s generosity toward the children. “Aye, that. Well, Dwarven children, and get a coin for their baby teeth. We always tell them to put the tooth under their pillow that night and he’ll will give them a coin.”

“I like it. Maybe we’ll start that same tradition when Dale is finally settled, as part of its new culture. Might be fun. It was nice that you made sure all the kids got one.”

“Well, it isn’t their fault they didn’t know to ask Mahal, now is it?"

Bard smiled at Tilda, when he asked Bofur, “So, have you been helping my Little Bean here with her Very Important Mission from King Thranduil?”

“Aye, that we have, haven’t we?” the Dwarf looked at Tilda, who smiled and nodded her head.

After Tauriel joined their little group, Bofur led them through the halls, to their suite of rooms. They had to go over a long walkway, and Bard made sure to caution Bain and Tilda to never run on it. Just the idea of it made Bard’s stomach lurch. He looked at Tauriel, who nodded in silent agreement. “You two are never to come on this by yourselves, do you hear? You will always wait for someone to take you.”

Bain rolled his eyes at his Da. “I’m not a baby.”

“You think I’m being silly? Go over to the edge and tell me how far down that is.”

Bain, cocky, walked off to the side, then stopped, taking in depths below for himself, he quickly stepped back, muttering, “Ulmo’s balls!”

“Bain! Language!” Bard admonished, but he did have some pity for his son’s now-green face. He wasn’t terribly thrilled with heights, either. Bofur and Tauriel kept straight faces, which he found admirable. Tilda looked at Bain with wide eyes.

Sigrid looked completely disgusted with her brother, but also admonished Bard with a withering look. “Gee, Da. _I can't imagine_ where Bain hears such things, can you?”

"Yeah, Da, it isn't like you -" Bain began.

"Shush, you," Bard said.

Both the kids rolled their eyes.

Their rooms were lovely. There was a central meeting area, and three doors leading to bedrooms, and one door opened into a large sunken tub with spigots, and a necessary seat with running water. The children were fascinated, as was Bard. He’d never seen such a thing. Bofur was kind enough to show all of them how the spigots and the privy worked. Each room had longer large beds - the girls would share - and the rooms were spacious and looked comfortable. Their trunks had already been placed in the rooms, and Charlotte was sitting neatly against Tilda’s pillow, so she ran over to get her. It all looked neat and very accommodating.

“Okay all, we have a few hours till the feast, so what do you want to do?” Bard asked them. The girls wanted to explore, so Tauriel and Bofur left with them. Bard had an exhausting week, and wanted to take a nap, and Bain said he wanted to stay as well.

As he went to his bed and removed his tunic and boots, Bain came into Bard’s doorway. “What is it, son?”

“Da? Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.” He motioned for the boy to sit at his side.

“Do you ever think about the Dragon?” Bain asked him.

Bard put his arm around his son’s shoulders, and sighed. “More than I would like to, Bain. That was a terrible night. Do you think about it?”

“Yeah. I do. Sometimes I dream about it. I’m glad I helped you, and I know if I hadn’t brought you the Arrow, we wouldn’t… But I was so scared, when it looked at me…”

“I know. Me too. I was never so scared in all my life. I couldn’t let you die, and you saved me too, you know."

Bain nodded.

“I’ll tell you a secret, though.” Bard confided to his son.

“What?”

“I have nightmares, too. Bad ones. I wonder if I always will. We killed Smaug, and it was awful. But, I found it helps to think on how our lives are changing.  I'm a King, you're a Prince and soon, we'll be rattling around in this big Castle, won't we?  We'll be running around Thranduil's Palace too.  That's not bad, for a poor Bardgeman and family, yeah?"  he nudged Bain, “It’s funny, though. There are still some things I miss about our life in Laketown.”

“I don’t miss anything. I’m glad we’re here, Da. I just think about it all, sometimes…”

“We’ve lived through some awful things, Bain. Besides Smaug’s attack, we were in a terrible Battle, and you know what a hard time Tilda's had with it.”

“But she’s little, and she’s a girl..."

“So, you think grown men don't carry things like that around with them? They do. Even Thranduil, who has seen more than you and I can imagine. You should ask him about it, sometime. Another person you might want to talk to is Feren. I think they’ll both tell you, scars and injuries don’t just happen on the outside.”

“Thranduil and Feren, too? But they’re so strong and tough! I saw them both that day…”

“Yes, they were amazing in Battle. But things like this have nothing to do with how strong you are on the outside, or even how strong you are in the inside, either, do you understand?  Too many men tell themselves this, and they bury these wounds, until they fester and infect their whole lives. They'd rather do that to themselves, than admit they need help.”

“They could be afraid to talk about it, too.”

“You’re right, about that. It’s hard to face things that hurt and scare us. In a way, it’s like going to battle all over again, only it’s something inside us that we have to face. Is that what it feels like?”

Bain nodded, but still looked down. Bard nudged him. “How many nightmares have you had?”

“A few. I didn’t want to worry you, because Tilda’s seem worse. Anyway, I should be able to handle it myself.”

“No! That’s where you’re dead wrong Bain. You are thirteen years old, and you’ve been forced to see things no boy your age ever should. But you did. I’ll always be proud of you and how you handled yourself, even though you were so scared. But you should never, ever think to feel ashamed of something like this. If you have a bad dream, I want you to tell someone about it. You can tell me, Percy, or Thranduil. Tauriel and Feren could help you, too. It will help, I promise.

He gathered his son into his arms. “And don’t ever think you’re too old to get a hug from your Da, all right?”

“Okay, Da.”

“Has this been bothering you all week? I’m sorry I’ve been away so much, especially if you needed me…”

“No, I was fine, until…”

“What, son?”

“Well, I was looking up at all the pillars when we first got here, and saw those horrible claw marks… It just…made me remember.”

“Aye. I wish I could tell you that will never happen again. But just breathe through it, and tell someone. All right? Never do it alone. Find someone, and we’ll talk you through it.” Bard hugged him again.

“I love you, Da.”

“I’ll always love you, you know that. Feel a little better?”

Bain nodded.

“Good. I really need to rest before the feast tonight. I never thought sitting around a big table and flapping my gums would make me so tired, but I can’t keep my eyes open. Do you want to lie down here with me?”

“No, that’s okay, Da. Tauriel gave me a book to on Elven history, so I’ll just sit there out there and look at it. It’s interesting.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to you later, then." He yawned, kissed his son’s forehead, “Could you turn the lamp by the door down on your way out?”

The boy did as he was asked, and shut Bard’s door. Bard snuggled down, and within five minutes, he was sleeping peacefully.

The feast, in the Hall of Kings that evening, was wonderful. Bard sat on Dáin’s left along with his family, and Thranduil sat on the other side of the King Under the Mountain, beside his colleagues. Each King was wearing his livery collar across their shoulders, making an impressive sight.

His family were wearing new clothes, made for the feast. Bard had a dark blue tunic trimmed with shiny gold embroidery done in an elaborate design resembling wheat, along the collar and the laces, with soft, sturdy black moleskin leggings. Sigrid looked lovely and very grown-up in her wine-colored dress, alongside Tilda’s purple one, and Bain’s outfit was styled after his father’s, but in a lighter shade of blue. Percy seemed to be getting used to the more formal clothing, wearing a cream tunic with trimmings in a more suble design, and Hilda looked elegant in red.

Thranduil looked stunning, in black velvet, that shimmered in shades of silver when he moved, and his robes were lined with crimson. All if this contrasted with his white-blonde hair to make him seem otherworldly. Bard could hardly take his eyes off him; he was so beautiful. His diadem was different than the he wore during the battle; this one was done in a different pattern of silver vines and leaves, adorned with sapphires and diamonds. He had told Bard he has another crown in the Woodland Realm that changed with the seasons. Bain seemed to be feeling better, as he was digging into his second helping of food like there was no tomorrow. Sigrid was chatting with Oin, who approached her to offer his help with training as a Healer, when the time came. Tilda had left her seat and was over chatting with Bilbo.

All the children were very polite and proper, when introduced to the King Under the Mountain, who was duly impressed. All the dwarves seemed to enjoy them. Especially Oin and Bofur, who had spent time with them in Laketown. King Dáin, for his part, did his best not to be terrifying. That was becoming easier, the more the ale and wine flowed. Turns out, Dáin had a brilliant sense of humor, and had Bard in stitches with the stories he would tell. Even Thranduil laughed now and again. It was truly a celebration of the Three Northern Kingdoms. Everybody offered toasts, and there were some short speeches.

Well, Gandalf’s would have been longer, except Bilbo and Radagast urged him to sit down; he had drunk quite a bit and was rather unsteady on his feet.

Bard was thankful for the congenial atmosphere, this night. There would still be problems and disputes in the future - especially between the Dwarves and the Elves - it was naïve to think that one week could wipe away thousands of years of animosity. But, knowing Thranduil as he did, and as he was learning to know Dáin, they seemed strong enough to not allow pride to interfere with the good of their Kingdoms.

After the dinner speeches, and before the music started, King Dáin stood up and asked for silence. “I’ll make this a quick speech,” he declared. Cheers from the Dwarves. “As ye all know, we’ve had a mighty job tryin’ to clean this place up. And in doing so, King Bard, we’ve come across a couple of items that belong to ye. We’ve had to do some repair work on them, but they’re now good as new.”

Bard was rather curious, and looked at Dáin and Gandalf with a bemused expression. Then Balin, and Gloin, approached the head table, and set wooden boxes in front of Bard. All the children gathered around his chair, to see what they contained.

He opened the first box, and it contained a beautiful, elaborately designed gold and emerald necklace. Sigrid gasped, and Tilda squealed loudly and clapped her hands, causing the audience to chuckle. Bard picked it up out of its box and looked at it with wide, unbelieving eyes. “Lord Dáin, it’s beautiful, but my family has no Heirlooms, besides the Black Arrow. Are you sure this is mine?”

“Aye it is, Lord Bard. This is the necklace of Girion. He commissioned it to be made and Balin tells me he never had the chance to receive it before Smaug came. It belongs to yer house, to do as ye see fit. That Dragon stole something else you’ll be needin’. It was in a terrible state, but we’ve since made repairs, and it’s better than new. Open it.”

Bard, still bemused, slowly opened the other box, and this time, Sigrid and Bain joined Tilda in squealing loudly. There, in a bed of red velvet, lay the golden crown of Dale. Bard lifted it out of the box, so the audience could see, and they oohed and aahed, as he took in the shiny yellow gold, accented with rubies, sapphires and diamonds. Despite the gemstones, the design of the crown was very simple, which Bard was grateful for.

He placed the coronet back in the box, and stood up to thank King Dáin and all the Dwarves. He had never thought about a formal coronation before, and he told the audience this. He stated that, once Dale was fully restored in all its former glory, a celebration would be held, with the other Kingdoms as special guest.  He would not feel worthy to have the Crown of Dale placed on his head, until everyone of his subjects had a decent home to live in.  Then Bard thanked all present for the cooperation and spirit of the talks this week, and added his hopes to Thranduil’s and Dáin’s for a strong, impenetrable force in the North, that would defeat all enemies.

After the applause died down, it was time to bring out the instruments, and really have a party. Bard had no idea Dwarves were so proficient in music. He sat next to Dáin, enjoying his ale, and watched as his children were taking turns dancing with the Elves and Dwarves. “So, ye enjoy our brew, do ye?” Dáin asked him, as Bard emptied his tankard, which was soon refilled.

“Aye, its good stuff. Reminds me of my favorite pub in Laketown.  I haven’t had any ale since the fires, and I've missed it."

A smooth baritone voice behind him said, “I would assume a certain smuggler, of ill repute, supplied your tavern with this good ale, am I correct?”

Bard turned to Thranduil, who was standing behind him, along with Gandalf, and smirked. “I admit nothing, and I deny nothing.”

King Dáin got up, and motioned for the other three to follow him, he took them down a hallway, and went into what appeared to be the King Under the Mountain’s private chambers. There was a couch and two overstuffed chairs, which looked to be full-size, and the he indicated for them to sit and make themselves comfortable. On the low table in front of the couch was a tray with a bottle and four glasses. Dáin opened the bottle, and poured the amber-colored liquid into each cup and passed them out.”

“This is from the Iron Hills, and my own personal supply. It’s got a kick even you might like, Elf.” He poured the four drinks and passed them around, and offered a toast. “We, all three of us became Kings whether we liked it or not. I expected to be headed back to the Iron Hills by now, and Bard here,” he looked at Bard, “never thought he’d be King of Dale. Thranduil here, probably figured his own Dad would be around forever. Yet, here we are, so we might as well make the best of things. Fellas, it’s one thing to talk big about peace and cooperation, but now, the hard stuff starts. Maintaining that peace will be the real work. Here’s to keeping up what we signed today.

"I admit, we didn't start out friendly, and we've spoken about that, so we'll let it be, but we need to trust each other.  If yer anything like me, that isna something ye don't give out without reason.  I know we said a lot of flowery shit in our public speeches, but we need to learn to rely on each other behind closed doors, if we don't want that bastard Sauron to take us all in the end.

“Bard, no one expected ye to come to the table knowin' what ye were doing. Of course, I knew the Elf was goin' to help ye, and I won't lie to ye; I was suspicious, despite what Gandalf was tryin' to tell me, so I told Balin to watch carefully and see.   But look, everythin' ye wanted was fair and reasonable.  It was clear ye wanted to look after yer people well, and he didna see any  evidence of greed or wantin' personal gain.  What ye wanted for was only geared to gettin' yer folk on their feet. Yer no' a greedy man, and ye never will be.  I don't blame ye fer not wantin' to be King.  I don't mind tellin' ye, that damned crown of Thorin's give me an headache!  It's a heavy burden, and it won't get easier."

"Thanks Dáin.  I don't know anything about being a King, and it's true Thranduil is mentoring me, but only in terms of me serving my own people.  I would appreciate guidance from you, too.  We need to keep this region solid, or we'll all be destroyed."

"Aye.  No worries.  Yer no' a bad lad; ye can count on my help, when ye need it."  

Dáin raised his glass to Thranduil.  "Yer daughter tried to save Kili's life,and he, hers; and that blond-haired son saved my cousin, Thorin, when he tossed him that Elven sword into that Orc's chest.  If he hadn't done it, Thorin couldn't have killed that Albino Sonofabitch.  That boy of yers also made mincemeat of that bastard, Bolg's brains.  Thranduil," Dáin grinned, "ye might be a Pointy-Eared Sprite, but yer kids didn't learn all that stuff on their own.  That counts fer a lot, in my book.  The Three Kings are gonna do great things, here in the North, and together, we'll damn anybody who tries to stop us, to the hell fiefs of Mount Doom! To the Northern Kindoms!" he toasted.

They all stood and drank. Bard found the whiskey potent but very smooth, warming his insides as it went down. Thranduil seemed to enjoy it, and he swallowed a generous mouthful.

Dáin raised his glass again, “I also want to toast your upcoming nuptials and wish ye many happy returns.”

Bard froze, and looked at Thranduil, who looked just as shocked.

“How did you….”

“Don’t be daft, ye two; Who do ye think made yer rings?” Dáin laughed heartily at the both of them, and Gandalf was smirking. Thranduil was actually blushing.

“Mithrandir told you, did he not?” Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Gandalf, who looked very smug.

“But… those must have taken weeks to make! How did you know? We only got them the same night we got together.” Bard was incredulous.

“Our interferin' Wizard knows a lot more than he lets on, don't he?  He knew about ye two before yerselfs did!"  Dáin was roaring with laughter.  "Listen, I don’t get to do metalwork that much anymore, so it was good excuse get back down to the forges to play.  Gandalf left the design to me. Hope it suffices.”

Bard kept looking between Dáin and Gandalf, trying to absorb all this.  "They're... perfect, Dáin.  Really beautiful.  But, we didn’t want anyone to know because of the talks!  I didn’t want you to think I…”

“Oh, piffle!  Yer a clever lad, but no' a greedy one; we've settled that.  Just where did ye think the rings _came from_ , laddie? Ye think Gandalf just conjured them up out of thin air?” Dáin began to laugh.

“Well…actually….” He looked over at Gandalf. “I did, yes.” He said sheepishly.

Gandalf smiled at Bard, wryly. “Bard, making magic rings, is something I'm very much against. You've no idea the trouble they can cause, and I hope you never do, although my heart tells me we all will, one day."

“My compliments to you, Dáin.” Thranduil covered his heart and bowed his head. “They are beautiful, and I like them better knowing they came as a wedding gift from our third Northern Kingdom.  I hope you aren’t insulted to not be part of the ceremony.”

“No, I’m not. Gandalf told me how ye wanted to avoid a fuss, and 'tis a grand idea. Yer doin’ the right thing.  Word of mouth’ll spread quicker than a fire once it’s done and no one can raise a ruckus over it."  Then he grinned mischieviously.  "Ye know, me and my missus eloped."  He winked and laughed. “Yer also savin’ Bard here a heap of trouble, by takin' him off the market, so to speak.   By spring, he’d be havin’ fathers draggin’ their daughters to Dale by the wagonful, throwin' em at his feet.  I don’t hold with with arranged marriages.  Politickin’s is hard enough, and if ye got a shitty spouse by yer side, it’s a feckin’ nightmare.”

Dáin filled everyone’s glasses again, and held his up. “A long and happy life to ye both,” he said, before emptying it.

Bard turned to Thranduil, “At least, Dáin didn’t accuse me of getting you pregnant, too.”

When Thranduil lost his tea this morning, at least he had the consideration to limit his mess to his own person.

When Dáin, King Under the Mountain spit out his whisky, he got it all over _everybody._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil get a bit naughty in Erebor - do they get caught? Hmmm....
> 
> Feren and Bard sit down for a chat, about, among other things, two of Dale's orphans.
> 
> Next chapter is the wedding! Hope you think it's worth the wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to TheMirkyKing for naming Feren’s wife! This Chapter is dedicated to you, my friend… <3
> 
> [CherryK](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/CherryK/works?fandom_id=873394) wrote a steamy Barduil story called [A Token Of Gratitude](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3387689) which you might enjoy.
> 
> Enjoy Chapter Twenty, and thank so much for reading.

 

 

 

After meeting with Dáin, Bard wanted to check on his children, so he and Thranduil made their way to back to the Hall of Kings. It was an impressive room. The tapestries were huge, and beautifully done. They must have been cleaned recently, because their colors were bright, each one depicting a scene from Dwarven history. He would make a point to ask about them, during their tour.

He looked for the kids, and saw Tilda, dancing with Bofur, giggling madly. Sigrid was deep in conversation with Oin and Balin. Bain was sitting at a table with Feren and Dwalin, and he could see Bain gesturing something to them, probably telling them about his sword forms, from the way he was moving his hands. Dwalin, normally impatient and, at times hostile, seemed relaxed, as he listened to Bain. He saw Dwalin gesture to Bain about different moves, as well. Good.

He went over to Bain and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “So, have you told them how you killed the Dragon single-handed yet?” He smiled down at him.

“Da, I did not! Dwalin was telling me about his training when he became a soldier. He trained Fili and Kili, too, did you know that?”

“Evening, Master Dwalin, Commander Feren.” Bard nodded to them. “Between you two and Tauriel, Bain will be ready for just about anything, won’t he?”

“Aye, that he will. He seems to be off to a grand start. Tauriel’s been tellin’ me what she’s been teachin’ him. It’s not that different from how Dwarves start.” Dwalin said.

“That’s good to know. In fact, I’ve been meaning to speak to you and King Dáin about this. For now, we’ll need to concentrate on building up Dale, and we’re currently under the Woodland Realm’s protection, but the time will come when Dale will form its own army, and I’d like them to train with the Dwarves as well as the Elves. Each of you have learned to use your physical assets to their full advantage, and there’s lots to learn.”

“Sounds like an plan to me. We don’t go ‘round doing flips in the air like this guy,” he pointed to Feren with this thumb, “but I was sayin’ to these two that our way of goin’ about things are just as good, and in some ways, better.  It pains me to admit it, but we could learn a thing or two from the pointy-eared folk, while we're at it." 

“Good. I don't think it's a matter of fighting like Elves, or fighting like Dwarves, but certainly, there are things we can learn."

"I agree.  We Dwarves aren't stealthy, and never will be, so we rely our brute force and intimidation, a lot more.  We like to be on the front lines.  Now, Feren's folk," he lifted his mug to salute the Elven Commander, "can be invisible, and they ken how to use the element of surprise.  There's a lot to that.  That Army has a precision I'd love to see in my troops, and I'll make my men miserable until I see it."

Feren laughed.  "I thank you for the compliment, Master Dwarf."

Bard nodded and said to Bain,  "It’s getting late, and I need to take Tilda to bed. As long as someone will take you over that walkway, you can stay up a bit later, all right, son?”

“I’ll take the lad.” Dwalin offered. “He’ll no’ come to harm on my watch.”

Feren stood up, and said his goodbyes. “I am afraid it is time for me to return to my duties in Dale.  Good evening, Lord Bard, Lord Bain.” With a bow to them, he then turned to the Dwarf and offered his hand. “I have enjoyed speaking with you, Master Dwalin, and I hope we get an opportunity to speak again, while I am stationed in Dale during the winter”

After clasping forearms, Feren went to King Thranduil and said his farewells. He gathered the few of his men who accompanied him and left the party.

“No’ a bad lad.” Dwalin said to Bard, as he watched the Commander leave. Bain got up to go get another plate of food.

“He’s done right by us; he and Percy have been organizing the cleanup of Dale, and seeing to supplies for my people. He does right by me and his King, and I'm glad to see you two get along.  It's encouraging."

"Didn't the lad tell ye?"  Dwalin said.

"Tell me what?"

"The Commander there saw us with our Chariot, figured out where we were headin' and ordered two Elven units to help Thorin clear the path to Ravenhill."

"No, I didn't know, but it was brilliant."  Bard gave a sad smile.  "I was a bit busy in Dale, when that troll broke down the wall, and all Mordor broke loose in the City.”

They both lifted their mugs.  "To absent friends, and a day I’m glad is over.”  Dwalin said.

"Aye.  And to new friends, who’ll help make we don’t have to go through it again." Bard said, before they drank.

“I hear Tauriel is goin’ to be a permanent resident of Dale, then.” Dwalin scrutinized Bard with his look. Bard wasn’t sure what to make of that, except perhaps an air of protectiveness.

“She’s in charge of guarding all the heirs of Dale, starting in the spring.  It’s not widely known yet, but I need to send most of my citizens to Mirkwood to help them bear the cold, so Tauriel will be here with me.  I spoke to Dáin a bit earlier, and, she’ll be free to visit Erebor fairly often.  I’m glad you all consider her a friend, too.”

“That we do, and she's earned it.  You won’t have to worry about any Dwarf no' treatin’ her right; she’ll always have a place here.”

“Tauriel’s family to me, and my children love her.  I promise you, Dwalin, I'll make sure she feels at home with us.  To tell you the truth, I think she’ll find more purpose and happiness in Dale than she did back in the forest.”

“Could be. I just hate the thought of her no’ bein’ able to see her home again.”

This was dicey territory. How Thranduil conducted things in his realm was his own business, and Bard didn’t want to be baited into commenting on it, but he supposed it was bound to happen eventually.

“Knowing Tauriel’s sense of honor, as we both do, I don’t think you’d be surprised to hear that she tried to insist that her punishment be more severe.” He was trying to be diplomatic, and hoping to Valar he was doing a decent job.  Dwalin was famous for his short fuse, and Bard had no wish to get on his bad side. “In any other Kingdom, raising a weapon to one’s King would be punishable by -“

”Death.” Dwalin answered. “If a Dwarf and did that, I’d strike him down myself.”

”Mirkwood’s loss is my gain.” Bard shrugged. “ For my part, I want her in Dale, protecting my kids.”

“I thought King Thranduil was just bein’ cruel, but then Balin told me of the provisions that he made for her. I didna’ know she was his kin.”

“A good King can’t make exceptions for family.  I can't imagine what that would be like, and I pray I never find out.” Bard changed the subject.  “How was Thorin with his nephews?”

“He was hard on ‘em, and held 'em to tougher standard than the rest of the folk; especially Fili. The lads were royalty, and had to be the example, and he never let 'em forget it.  I trained those two for combat, myself.”  Dwalin looked off in the distance, sad.  “Thorin never expected anythin’ from us that he wasn’t ready to do himself.”

”I’ve heard that.  I think it’s how an honorable King should be.”

”When he was in his right mind, he was the best of leaders, and the best of friends.”

“Only someone incredibly strong could overcome the Sickness.  I admire him for that, and for his actions afterward.  No one can take that away from him.  Bard told him.  “I know we had a rough start, you and me, but I truly am sorry for your loss, Dwalin.  Fili and Kili helped to save my children’s lives, when the Orcs attacked my house, and they helped Tauriel get them out of the fires.  I regret I’ll never have the chance to thank them for that.” Bard swallowed. 

“I thank ye.” He stood up, clearing his throat. Bard held out his hand, and he and the Dwarf clasped forearms, then he walked away.

Bard went to go find his girls. He saw Tauriel, and asked her to bring his two oldest to their suite in about an hour.  Then, he finally located Tilda, who was still with Bofur, and charming the pants off King Dáin.  His joke about bringing Tilda to the negotiations seemed to ring true.  He saw the Dwarven King lean down, so he could hear what she was saying, then he roared with laughter. 

He crossed his arms and watched the scene for a moment or two. Bard was amazed Tilda wasn't intimidated by the Dwarf King, or the scary tattoos on his face.  King Dáin was kindly toward his child, but not condescending, which Bard appreciated.  He had heard that the King Under the Mountain had a son, Thorin Stonehelm, who would remain in the Iron Hills to rule, when his wife and other children traveled to Erebor in the spring.

Bard noted, with a smile that Tilda had even dressed Charlotte for the occasion.  When he reached Mirkwood, he wanted to seek out those who made all that possible and thank them personally.

Their lives were so different than they were just months ago; the best thing was that his children would never be going without again.  Yes, he had huge, new burdens and strains in his life, but the constant, grinding poverty was gone.  He’ll forever be grateful to the Valar for that.

He approached the trio, and heard Tilda speak to Dáin about her Very Important Mission.

“My job is to listen, and the kids tell me the toys they like, and I tell Tauriel and she writes it down, and Bofur and Thrandool will take the papers to the Elf’s and the Dwarfs, and they make them!”

”Tha’ sounds like a good plan, Lass.”

”It’s good, because then the children can be happier, and maybe they won’t miss their Mams and Das so much, and maybe they won’t get sick, because when you smile a lot, it’s harder to get sick!”

The King Under the Mountain nodded his head. “We’ll get started as soon as Bofur gets the list.”

”Oh, good!” Tilda was excited. “It’s really nice of you, Lord Dáin.”

“Happy to help, Lady Tilda.”  The King nodded solemnly, then noticed Bard approach.

“Hello, King Bard! Yer tiny ambassador does a fine job, doesn’t she?”

“Aye, she does.” He smiled and picked her up. “Hello, Little Bean, are you and Charlotte having fun?”  She nodded.  “I hate to say it, darling but it’s way past your bedtime, and you’ need to be rested, so Bofur can take you around Erebor, tomorrow, right?”

“But I’m not tired, Da! Can’t I stay up, please?”  She turned her charming pout on full blast and batted her blue eyes, and could see Bofur and the Dwarf King melting under her spell.  If it were up to them, she’d be up all night, but they wouldn’t have to deal with how weepy and grumpy she’d be the next day.

“Sorry, love, but you'll see your friends tomorrow, when you've had good night's sleep.  Can you say goodnight to King Dáin and Master Bofur like a grownup Princess?”

He put her back down, and got a bit teary, as she paid courtesy to the King Under the Mountain.  “Goodnight.” She sniffled, which confirmed Bard’s suspicion that she was overtired.

Dáin respectfully bowed his head to her. “It’s been a pleasure doin’ business wi’ ye.  Off the bed wi’ ye now, an’ we’ll see ye in the mornin’.”

After giving Bofur a hug, she took her Da’s hand and they were making their way out of the Hall, when Thranduil joined them. “I see you’re on your way to your chambers, too. May I join you?”

Tilda was still holding Bard’s hand, nodded, but she began to cry. “I don’t wanna to go to bed, Thrandool; I wanna stay up!"

“I can see that, but your Da is correct. Here.” He held out his arms, and she went over to him to be picked up. “If you promise to be good about going to bed, I will tell you a story, how does that sound?” Tilda nodded her head, not quite convinced she should give up the fight, but settling down. “Did you have an enjoyable time, _T_ _ithen Pen?”_

She nodded, putting her head on his shoulder. “I liked the music, and Bofur taught me and Tauriel their dance.”

“That is good. Did Tauriel have a good time as well?”

Tilda nodded against his neck. “She smiled a lot.”

Thranduil looked happy to hear this. As they made their way through the winding halls, and over the walkway, Tilda yawned several times.

“I think all that the dancing has worn you out, Beanie.”

“I’m not worn out, Da.” Bard looked at Tilda’s face, and watched her eyes start to blink.

They entered Bard’s suite, and Thranduil put the little girl down, so her Da could have her visit the necessary, and get her into her nightclothes, and tucked her into bed.

“I’m ready for my story, now.” She called to the Elvenking, as she tucked Charlotte under her arm.

Bard listened as he told Tilda a short tale of how King Thingol met his wife, Melian the Maia, and his long, long sleep.  When Thranduil was finished, they both kissed her on the forehead, and left, leaving a crack in the door to listen for her, while they sat on one of the loungers together.

As they relaxed, Bard smiled and laughed a little.

“What is so amusing?”

“This is the first _real room_ I’ve been in since Laketown!  I’m so used to tents now, this feels strange.”  Bard looked around at the smooth, stone walls, the high ceilings in the glow from the lamplight and the large fireplace.  “It’s beautiful in here. I can see why the Dwarves love it.  I don’t know if I could live here year-round, but it’s a nice place to visit.”

“I feel the same.  My palace is also underground, but my home has more natural light, but Erebor has beauty and wonder all its own.  This structure isn’t suited to Elves, who need to be closer to nature, but I was a guest here several times, when Thrór was King Under the Mountain, and he was an excellent host.  I am glad to see Dáin wishes to continue that tradition.”

Bard moved closer to him, and put his arm around him, kissing him. “I can’t wait to see your home, love.”

Thranduil kissed him back, and smiled. “I want to see you in my bed and to make it ours.”

Bard was curious. “How is your bed here? Is it long enough? I was wondering how the Dwarves were going to handle you tall Elves.”

“It certainly looks big enough. I wish I could have your help in making sure it’s comfortable…” the Elvenking rubbed his nose. “I have missed being close to you, _Meleth nîn.”_   Thranduil’s hand began rubbing his thigh.

“Me too. Stop teasing me. I can’t leave Tilda; she’s in a strange room, and she still has the occasional nightmare.”

“She does?” Thranduil looked stricken. “You did not tell me this!”

“She had one again, when the talks first started. I’m surprised she hasn’t had more. Or the other kids, for that matter.”

Thranduil was thoughtful. “If you think the children are lacking in sleep, let me or Tauriel know, and we can perform a _losta-luith_ and give them a peaceful night’s rest.”

“And a _losta-_ whatchamacallit, would be?”

“A simple sleeping-spell.  Children need their rest, to help prevent sickness.”

“Aye, that they do.” Bard said. Then he thought a minute or two, “Wait a minute…”

“Yes?” Thranduil looked at him, raising his expressive eyebrows, yet again.  If the Elf ever lost the powers of speech, he would hardly suffer, as those brows seemed to say everything he was thinking, anyway.

“The night of the Battle…you put one on me, didn’t you?” Bard accused.

“What makes you think I would do such a thing?” Thranduil was the picture of innocence.

“You did, didn’t you?  I slept like a log in the woods, and didn’t hear a thing when my kids were in there!  I _never_ sleep that deeply, trust me.”

“You wound me, Bard.” Thranduil deadpanned, his hand on his heart.

“Oh, knock it off!  You did and you know you did.”  Bard smacked the Elf with a small pillow from the couch, smirking.

“Perhaps.” Thranduil gave the Bowman an imperious look.

Bard grabbed the Elf by the back of the neck, and kissed him until Thranduil closed his eyes, and opened his mouth to let him in.  They fell back on the furniture, and became lost in each other for several moments.  Bard could feel Thranduil’s fingers running through his hair, his body moving closer as his tongue worked magic in his mouth, sending a thrill all through him.  He moaned and opened his mouth even more, as his cock twitched.

After they broke apart, Bard got up, and grabbed his Elf by the wrist and dragged him into his room, shut the door, and locked it.

“But Bard, the children…”

“…will be here in about a half hour, so we'd better hurry.” Bard panted, and pushed the Elvenking roughly on the bed. He pointed to his robe. “Off. Now.”

Thranduil quickly unfasted his robe and was left in his undertunic and leggings, which he quickly unlaced. Bard climbed on the bed and was undoing his leggings, and pulling them down, and off, along with his boots. Thranduil joined him on the bed, almost completely naked, moaning as their bodies slid together.

“I have missed you, _Meleth nîn.”_

Bard ran his hands over Thranduil’s thighs and massaged his buttocks, as he pressed their hips together and rocked. “You have no idea,” he moaned. “Want you so bad.”

The Elf growled quietly, feeling their hardening lengths rub against each other.  “Oh, Bard, put your mouth on me, please." he begged.  'I love how it feels…”

Bard kissed his way down the Elvenking’s stomach stopping to play with his nipples, smiling as Thranduil jerked and moaned, and made his way to that beautiful, hairless cock, pink in its hardness. He saw the shiny bead of precum, and hummed, as he licked it off, and filled his mouth with the heat. He loved hearing the Elf’s breath catch as he quickly moved his tongue back and forth under the head and along his length.

Then two hands were holding his head, and pulling him off. Bard looked up at Thranduil, puzzled, only to find a wicked smile on his face.

“Allow me to return the favor.” Then Thranduil turned his body, and lay flat, massaging Bard’s buttocks and the back of this thighs, as he urged Bard to straddle him, and lower his own cock into the Elf’s hot wet mouth.

“Oh… Oh, fuck... that’s good Thran…” Bard moaned loudly; he couldn’t help it, and Thranduil smacked his buttock, hard.

“Quiet!  No one must hear us!”  He rubbed the spot, to soothe it.  “I assume, Bowman,” he whispered,  “that you can find a better way to occupy that big mouth of yours, before everyone knows what we’re doing.”

And Bard did.  He filled his mouth with Thranduil’s hard length once again, and sucked hard, using one hand to grip it, while his tongue flicked the sensitive skin underneath the head, and swallowed all the precum.  Thranduil gave a low, pleasured hum, which only served to pleasure Bard, too.  The Elf started stroking one hand on Bard’s balls, and behind them, toying and rubbing his entrance, which made Bard jerk his hips, and moan around Thranduil.  He used one hand to give the same ministrations to the Elvenking, who reacted with enthusiasm.

They egged each other on, until Bard’s movements became erratic and his whole body started to tense.  He hummed deeply, sending vibrations through the Elf’s body, then felt his release, as Thranduil grabbed his hips to keep them still, while he eagerly sucked him hard through his orgasm.  Then Thranduil panted and held his breath as Bard brought him to a fabulous climax, holding his hand over his mouth to stifle his sounds, and squeezing his eyes shut as his body arched up to Bard’s mouth.

They hadn’t had each other for over a week, due to time and exhaustion from all the stress, and Bard had been wanting him all day.  At last, the tension seeped out of his body and he closed his eyes and relaxed with a sigh.  Thranduil turned around, and lay beside him, draped his arm and leg over the Bowman possessively, and nestled his head onto Bard’s shoulder.

“Oh, bloody fuck, I needed that.”  Bard whispered, still panting.  “I had no idea how tense I’ve been. This is much,  _much_ better.”

“I agree, _Meleth nîn.”_ Thranduil whispered, as he peppered Bard's chest with kisses..

The words barely were out the Elvenking’s mouth, when they heard voices in the Common Area of the suite.

 _"Ulmo's Balls!"_  Bard hissed, and jumped off the bed, frantically grabbed his tunic and tugged it over his head. He scooped up his britches, and accidentally stuck both feet into the same leg, sending him crashing to the floor, swearing. 

Thranduil was no help.  He had his hands over his mouth to stifle his laugh.  At Bard’s murderous look, Thranduil helped him up and got him into his leggings and his boots, chewing on his lower lip, and chortling.

Bard, sputtering with nervousness, and fumbled over his lacings so much that Thranduil had to do them up for him, still snickering.

“Stop that! It’s not funny! You think I _want_ my kids knowing about my sex life?”

“I do not see why you are so upset, Bard.  Please calm down; these are thick, stone walls, and they cannot hear you.    Besides, they know we are getting married.  There is no reason at all to be embarrassed.”

“Says you!  Do _you_ want to explain the facts of life to Tilda, if they find out?” Bard asked.  "Keep that shit up, and I'll make you!"

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “You worry too much,” and started laughing again.

“Stay here, and don’t make a fucking sound!” Bard ordered him in a whisper, as he got up went to the door. He paused before it to smooth his hair, straighten his tunic, and did his best to put a casual look on his face.  It didn’t work, because by this time, Thranduil was curled up around a pillow, laughing into it. The more the Elf giggled, the more embarrassed Bard got.

With one final, wide-eyed, warning look, Bard shook out his arms to loosen himself up, quietly undid the lock and walked out to meet his children.

Bard tried hard to look and sound casual, but his voice came out as a squeak.  “Hi!  Did you two have fun?” 

 

****************

 

Thranduil was holding his hand over his mouth to try and stop himself from laughing. He couldn’t help it. The whole situation was absurd.  After thousands of years since his youth, he never expected to be hiding like a naughty _ellon_ , trying not to get caught!  Even better was watching his husband-to-be landing on his behind, trying to scramble into his clothes… That image sent his face back into the pillow as he fell into gales of helpless laughter.

He was having fun.  This was all _so much fun!_

He finally stopped with the giggle-fits, and managed to get dressed again, and smooth his hair down some. He held his hand over his mouth, grinning as he listened to the conversation between Bard and his children.

Suppose the children caught their father? He could imagine the look on Bard’s face, which made him start laughing again. His Bowman was so shy about these things; it was endearing…

Then he heard Tauriel’s voice.

 _Ai, gorgor!_    She was here?  With her keen Elven hearing? _Gorgor!_

Instantly he sobered up and his eyes widened. How long had she been there?  He'd been too busy laughing at Bard to pay attention.  Tauriel would've heard _everything..._

Thranduil cursed in Sindarin, and his stomach did flip-flops at the thought. She knew. He was sure of it; how was he going to explain himself?

He listened at the door, as the children prepared for bed, telling their father and Tauriel goodnight, then listened to Bard and Tauriel chatted for a few minutes.  Anxiously, Thranduil waited for her to say something about the “guest” waiting in Bard’s room. 

She didn’t, to his relief.  Maybe she didn’t know…

After Tauriel said her good-nights, Bard quietly opened the door to his room, and signaled to Thranduil silently to come out, keeping one eye out for his kids. He and Bard stood in front of the door leading to the hall, and kissed good-night.

“Well, that was a narrow escape,” Bard quipped in a low voice, grinning.

“Was it worth it?” Thranduil asked, smiling back.

“Oh, aye, it was.” Bard kissed him again, and opened his mouth to plunder Thranduil’s with his tongue.  “I loved it, and I love you.”

“And I love you, Bard.” Thranduil buried his face into Bard’s neck, loving his warmth and softness of those black curls.  “I do not want to leave you, but I must.”

“Aye, love. We have to behave. Or at least pretend to behave.”  They both giggled a little.  “I’m never going to think of Erebor the same way, you know.”

Thranduil pulled his head back and raised his eyebrows,  “I agree.”  He kissed Bard’s nose and opened the door and left, leaving Bard to close it behind him.

As he turned toward his own suite, he stopped, gasping.

There was Tauriel, leaning her shoulder against the wall, smiling smugly at him, her arms crossed.

Thranduil arched an eyebrow at her. “Yes?” he asked, trying very hard to sound regal and haughty. It didn’t work. His voice was just as artificially high as Bard’s was, and he blushed deep pink.

“Nothing, My Lord.” She gave him a knowing smirk, standing up straight. “Not a thing.”

“Well…then I bid you good night, Tauriel.” Trying (and failing) to appear calm and collected.  He was a King, for Valar's sake, but he still felt like a naughty child.  And she _knew it_.  It was written all over her face.

Tauriel went over to him, put her hand on his arm.

“I am so glad you are happy, _Ada.”_   She smiled up at him, then she stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “You deserve it.”

She bid him good night and left him standing there, surprised and touched beyond description.  He touched his cheek where she had kissed it.  She hadn’t done that, or even called him _Ada_ since she was very small…

As he crawled into his bed, he thanked the Valar once again, for yet another blessing that came with this beautiful Bowman, who had unexpectedly entered his life and his heart.

 

***************

 

The next morning, they all breakfasted together with Balin and Bofur. Once their meal was done, the Dwarves took them on a tour of the wonders of Erebor. Thranduil had been here several times before, when things were friendlier, but he decided to accompany them, anyway. He knew the Halls when they were at their finest, and was anxious to see the how the repairs were coming along. He asked Balin several questions and complimented the Dwarves at their speed and expertise, at the restoration.

  
Bard and the children marveled at the strength of the Dwarves, as they watched them handle the large pieces of rock, and Bard was especially interested in the pulley systems that lifted the pieces of carved pillars into place, asking about using it to repair the high towers and walls of Dale. Balin took them to the Hall of Kings, to tell them the story behind all of the tapestries, which was a fascinating history, especially to the children and Tauriel. Thranduil was useful here, because he was witness to some of the scenes depicted, and had some additional remarks.

Things got a big awkward when Tilda said something to Balin about the Golden Floor and how they did that. Last evening, at the feast, he had taken Balin aside, and asked him to keep references to Smaug to a minimum during the tour. He explained about Bain’s reaction to the claw marks, and Tilda’s recent nightmare.

“Oh, the poor bairns!” he exclaimed, and quickly agreed.

Balin just smiled Tilda, and told her in the most general terms of melting all the gold down till it was liquid, and how it poured down over the floor, and became very smooth and shiny as it cooled off. Then he quickly changed the subject, and focused on another tapestry, to tell its story.

They went to the forges, staying well back, and Balin explained how the metal was heated and shaped. They watched a few Dwarves pour some molten metal into molds. To Bain’s delight they saw a sword being forged, as Balin explained how folding the steel many times, makes the blades stronger.

By prior agreement, Tauriel and Bofur took Sigrid and Tilda off to see the view from the high terraces, then to see the dispensary where Oin was working. The rest of the party went through the Halls out to the practice yard, where several Dwarves were sparring. After seeing how serious and aggressive the Dwarves were in their training, Bard knew he had made the right decision. This would have been too much for his little one.

Still, he was keen to observe their moves and techniques, using their stature and strengths to the greatest benefit. They were all impressed, especially Bain. He was also grateful that none of the Dwarves challenged the Elvenking to spar with them. Relations might be better between the Dwarves and Elves, but not enough time had passed, and the last thing Bard needed right now was to try to thwart another war.

Finally, the tour was over, lunch was prepared and eaten, and the Elves and Men set out for Dale. All the children were talking about the things they had seen, with Tauriel, who added more stories and context from her short time as friends of the Dwarves.

“I had no idea there was so much inside that Mountain. It’s funny how you see something your whole life, and never stop to consider it.”

“It is a wonder.  I wish you could have seen it in all its glory then, but I have no doubt you will again.  They are making excellent progress.  There’s plenty of time, _Meleth nîn._   Soon, your own Kingdom will be just as beautiful.”  His Elf smiled at him.

“It still feels so far off.”

“The days are long, but the years are short. Before you know it, we will be celebrating your coronation in your new city. Perhaps Mithrandir will come and bring more fireworks to entertain the children.”

“First we have to get through the winter.” Bard reminded him, sadly.

“That is true. However, we have a wedding in two days, do we not?”

Bard grinned, brightening. “We do, don’t we? Sigrid asked me how we were going to work this out, being married and running two Kingdoms. I admit, I haven’t given it much thought. I was so happy to just be with you.” Bard wondered. “How are we going to do this, Thranduil?”

“I have run my kingdom for thousands of years, and much of it runs itself. For the foreseeable future, I plan to spend a great deal of time in Dale. Establishing and stabilizing a Kingdom will take many years, and several cycles of the seasons, and all the problems that come with it, before you feel qualified in your role, I’m afraid. I will need to be here more, simply to help you.”

“I can see that. Bain shouldn’t be worried about all of this for a long while yet, but when it comes time for him to take over, I want him to be really prepared. Not like me, who was thrown into the deep water, before learning to swim.” Bard smiled at the Elvenking. “I was thinking about Laketown. If, as you say, people from other areas will come to Dale to stay, this will expand the city and the territories, and maybe some of the residents now would prefer to be back there. Fishing is what my people know best, and it stands to reason that some won’t want to give it up to be farmers.”

“True. That is an excellent thought. Perhaps, when the time comes, Bain could be in charge of that city, to help him gain experience in the running of a Kingdom.”

“I was thinking that, too. But, I get ahead of myself.” Bard was thoughtful. “There is just so much. So much to all of this, that I need to know. I don’t want to have to depend on you forever.  It needs to be me running Dale, not you.  Otherwise, the people won’t respect me, or Bain, when the time comes.”

“This is true.  They will not.  I plan to back off more and more, and when the time comes, I urge you to form a good Council.  Finding those who are completely trustworthy takes a great deal of time.”  He smiled at Bard.  “I’ll do whatever you and Dale need.  As I said, even if you and I had not fallen in love, nothing would change my commitment to the city and to the North.”

They smiled at each other some more, and continued riding. Bard brought his horse closer to Thranduil’s and said, in a low voice. “I had fun last night.”

“As did I, _Meleth_ _nîn_.” Thranduil said very quietly, “We both forgot about the sharpness of Elven hearing.” He nodded towards Tauriel.

Bard blushed, “Even through those thick, stone walls?”

“I think by the time she arrived, we were finished, but I know she heard you whispering to someone. She was waiting outside of your suite for me.”

Bard threw back his head and laughed. “So, she caught the naughty Elvenking sneaking around, yeah?”

“That she did.”  Thranduil looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I am very glad she did, too.”

“Oh, really? Did you get a lecture?  Did she want you to explain what happens when "two Elves love each other very, very much," and how little Elves are made?"

“No." Thranduil gave him a dirty look.  "She kissed my cheek and called me _Ada._   It has been centuries since she has done that.”

Bard smiled at him. “I take it _Ada_ means Da, in your language?”

“It does. _Adar_ means ‘father,’ but she did not say that. She called me _Ada.”_

“Good for you, Thranduil. How do you feel?”

The Elvenking searched for words. “I do not quite know how to say it; I feel like…I was empty, but I am becoming full again."

“You said it just fine, love. It’s how I feel, too.”

Thranduil smiled and laughed to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing…” Thranduil looked at him from under his lashes, smiling.

“What are you thinking about, My King, that puts _that_ look on your face?” Bard inquired.

Thranduil smiled again, and said, “You shall see.”

“See what?”

“In two days, you shall see.”

“Ah. The ‘Elf thing.’”

A snicker from the King of the Woodland Realm.

“No hints?”

“Not a one. Just a promise that you will like it very, very much.”

 

When they returned to the camp, Percy and Hilda went to their tent to change, as Bard and his family did.  Once in their regular clothes, the children spent the afternoon resting, and playing quietly in Bard’s tent, while he made a quick tour around the camp to see how things fared in his absence.

He'd rarely had the chance to speak more than a few words to Feren, so, he went to his tent, where the Elf greeted him with a bow and a smile.

“Good afternoon, My Lord, how was your tour of Erebor?”  Feren got up from the table where he had been sitting, and saluted.

“It was amazing, actually. You can ask Turamarth for more details. He accompanied us during the tour, while Daeron was taking a few hours’ rest.  He looked really interested in the forges, and the exercise yards.”

“I shall do so. We can learn a lot from the Dwarven swordsmiths.” He smiled at Bard. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I just wanted to see how things managed here while we were busy in Dale, this week.  I also wanted to thank you for standing up for Thranduil in two days. Your friendship means a great deal to him, which means a lot to me.  I know I don’t technically need it, but your support of our marriage is important to me.  I want you to know; I'll do everything in my power to make him happy.”

“I think you should know, My Lord - he has confided in me about the nature of your blessing from the Valar, and your choice.  I am glad he did.  We truly need our King, especially for the coming days.” He looked grimly at Bard.  “I respect and admire the sacrifice you have been willing to make for him, and our people.”

“Thank you.  I'm sure Thranduil has asked you to keep that information confidential.  This isn’t the right time to explain this to my children, or my people.”

“Of course."

"Thranduil told me of your initial response to our marriage.  Considering the circumstances, I can't say I blame you."

The well-being of my people is my first priority." Feren smiled.  "It's my job to worry about it.  However as a friend to My King, I am thrilled for him.  Your decision earns my loyalty to you, as well.”

Then Feren drew his sword, knelt before Bard, and bowed his head, “Bard, King of Dale, I pledge to you here and now that I will help and protect you in every way I can, not only because you will be the Consort to my King, but because you have decided to forfeit your afterlife with your family to be with him, thus ensuring the safety of my country.  While my fealty remains with my King, and the Woodland Realm, you shall always have my support, and my sword.”

Bard, visibly moved, placed his hand upon Feren’s bowed head and blessed him, saying. “I receive your sword with my thanks and appreciation. It is my deepest wish that I remain worthy of your most generous promise, your loyalty, and most important, your King. I am truly honored.”

Feren rose and placed his sword back in its sheath, bowed, and invited him to sit, as he poured the King of Dale a drink.

“Thranduil is my oldest friend, and it brings me joy to see him happy again. He is now the Thranduil I used to know, before his grief overtook him.”

“Aye. Grief can do terrible things to people. It pains me to think of how long he suffered.” Bard told him. “He said you grew up together. What was he like?”

Feren smiled. “Outwardly, he was as tough and unapproachable as he needed to be as a King. But in private, he dropped the mask and was much like what you see now; affectionate and loving to his family, and with a wonderful sense of humor. When we returned from the War, he had difficulty, until he met Queen Mirelen."  Feren smiled, and kept his thoughts to himself for a moment.  "He was truly happy, especially when Prince Legolas was born.  Then, after the she died, he… never dropped the mask, and kept everyone at a distance, even Galion and me.  He wasn’t unkind to us, or his children, but he was…”

“Empty.” Bard said. “Empty is the best word I can come up with, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”  Shaking his head, he changed the subject. “You two were children together?”

“My own father was Commander of King Oropher’s Army, and I am honored to follow in his footsteps. King Thranduil and I are close in age, and were schooled together.”

“I would have loved to have known Thranduil when he was a boy. I’ll bet you’ve got some stories to tell.”

Feren gave him a smile. “Indeed I do, My Lord. However, if I reveal stories about my King, he will surely reveal his stories about me.”

Bard laughed. “That bad, eh?  You two made a pact, never to reveal your secrets, eh?"

The Commander just shrugged and continued to smile.

“May I ask you a personal question, Feren?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Are you married, or do you have someone?”

“I am married, and happily so. My wife’s name is Glélindë.”

“That’s a lovely name. What does she do in your Kingdom. Is she a member of the Army, as well?”

“Glélindë is in the Tailor’s Guild in our Kingdom. Her specialty is design, and she works directly under Taenya, the head of the Guild. In fact, my wife personally repaired Lady Tilda’s doll, and made many of the clothes for it.” He smiled proudly.

“Did she? Now I know who to thank for it!  Did Thranduil tell you her reaction when he gave it to her?  It was priceless; there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.”

“King Thranduil did tell me, and she was overjoyed to know it helped the Princess. The entire Guild was eagerly awaiting to hear about it.”

Have you any children, then?” asked Bard.

“We do not, sadly.  When I was home, I spoke to my wife about two of the orphans of your city, and if you are willing, we would like to foster them, hopefully to adopt. I am saddened to think their parents are gone.”

Bard laughed. “I heard you’ve been visiting the Children’s Area.  Which ones are you talking about?”

Feren smiled sheepishly.  “I have. I was speaking of Alis and Dafina.  They are so young, and for some reason, those two little girls have pierced my own heart.  They are very sweet, and I hate seeing them so sad.”

Bard recalled the pair of little girls.  They were younger than Tilda, and they both had blond curls and sweet blue eyes.  They were with their grandfather, Gruffudd, when the Dragon came, and he was able to get them out, but their parents had perished.  Gruffudd was severely injured in the Battle, losing his leg below the knee, despite the Healer’s best efforts, and still was confined to the Healing Tent.  He was one of the ones originally locked in the Great Hall, but decided to fight with some of the others for a last stand to help save Dale.  He will be spending the winter in the Greenwood, as well.

The King of Dale looked at the Commander very seriously. “I wish I could give you an answer, but you and your wife will have to pass muster with Hilda. Even I can’t say whether she will allow it.  While they are all in the Woodland Realm for the winter, she will be vetting prospective parents, and making sure you all know what is involved.  You must understand, Feren, it’s killing me to see those little ones without a home, but we have to make sure that they are placed and cared for properly."

“I completely understand, My Lord.  Let us hope "Lindë can persuade her of the home we would like to make for them. The girls tell me much of their grandfather, and I spoke to him, before I even brought it up with my wife.  He was agreeable.  If possible, we would like to take him in, as well, so they can be together.”

“They will be living in the Woodland Realm, then?  Does Gruffudd know this?”

“I am sure King Thranduil has spoken of this, or if not, he will surely affirm it.  I will be stationed in Dale for as many years as it will take to Command the Guard here and develop your Army.  I had already planned to bring my wife here for the duration.  It would also help the little ones to still be around their people.”

“Are you prepared for their mortality? You will only have them a short while, in your lives. I know what mourning has done to Thranduil, I hate to see you or anyone else suffer like that, Feren. Even if you are strong, your wife may not be. As hard as it is to lose a spouse, it's just as hard to lose a child.  Harder, even.  Our women feel the bond to a child even more fiercely than a father does.  And you will be gone much of the time, carrying out your duties to your King.”

“We have talked about that, My Lord.  We think of it this way, Lord Bard; all your orphans will suffer the same fate, yet that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve loving homes.  It would be wrong to turn them away to avoid heartache that is to come.  I could not do it.  Perhaps the memories we could make for them and for ourselves will help ease the pain.” He looked at Bard very seriously. “If I may be so bold, you will also have to face this, when the time comes.  And you will look to my King for solace during that time, will you not?”

Bard blinked a couple of time, and sat back in his chair.   The thought of it made stomach lurch, but Feren had a point. “You're right.  When the time comes, I hope to find solace in Thranduil, but also grandchildren that might be born. Perhaps you and your wife would could do the same. The race of Men have bigger families than Elves do, and perhaps that’s a way to still find joy in your grief.”

“This is also my hope. Since the forest became so sick, few Elves can even have children anymore, though we long for them.  My wife will be a wonderful mother, we both believe we would rather spend a short time giving those two a loving home, than to stand by and allow them to be alone."

"I see your point.  Saving yourself from heartache is not a good enough reason to keep any of the children in an orphanage."

"Precisely.  I hope Lady Hilda will understand that.”

Bard smiled at the Commander. “I think, if you tell her exactly what you told me of your plans, and about how you feel about them, you and your wife will have no trouble at all.”

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:  
_Ai, gorgor!_ – Literally means “Oh, horrors!” which can be interpreted as “Oh, shit!”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Bard and Thranduil's wedding day!!
> 
> After a very sweet ceremony, that includes their entire family in Dale, our newlyweds travel to the Elvenking's palace for their honeymoon. 
> 
> Finally, after weeks of teasing, and no hints, Thranduil shows his husband what "The Elf Thing" is...

 

Bard lay on his back smiling, eyes closed, while Thranduil was on his side beside him, kissing and tracing the outlines of every scar he could find on his new husband’s body. They fascinated the Elf, and he wanted to know the story behind each one of them. He promised Thranduil he would tell him all about them, when he wasn’t so completely exhausted, which he was, but only in the best way a man could possibly be.

They were married. It was official. In fact, they got married several times last night, and most of this morning.

It had been so long since he had been with someone; it was new, all over again. And, since he had never had a man make love to him, he really had felt like a virgin, discovering pleasure in ways Bard had never known possible.

Their first time was beyond what he could describe.

It was so much more than physical, and Bard was grinning from ear to ear.

 _It was so, so much more_ , because, _at last_ , Bard knew what the “Elf Thing" was...

  

~o0o~

 

Two days after returning from Erebor, all those invited were gathered in the Elvenking’s tent, standing around Bard and Thranduil in a semi-circle. Everyone was smiling, as they listened to Gandalf’s words. They had wanted a very simple ceremony, so the Wizard’s remarks were brief. Then Percy stepped up and handed Bard the ring, who kissed it, and placed it on Thranduil’s finger. Galion did the same for Thranduil, who also kissed it before putting it on Bard’s.

They both said some short vows to each other, then turned to all the children involved. Thranduil spoke to Sigrid, Bain and Tilda, affirming to them that they were his family now, and his commitment to them was every bit as permanent and important to him as the one to their father, and will continue this devotion for their children, and all generations following.

Bard turned to Tauriel, also spoke to her about the permanence of his commitment to her. He called her the daughter of his heart, and affirmed her place in their family, as well as Legolas’s.

Gandalf then took their ringed hands, placing one on top of the other. Hilda, trying not to cry, came forward, and wrapped a blue cord around their joined hands, asking for blessings from Ulmo, Lord of the Sea, and all the Valar. It was now Feren’s turn to wrap a green cord around them as well, calling on Elbereth, Queen of the stars, and all the Valar, to bless their union.

Gandalf held their joined hands in his and invoked the name of Elu Ilúvitar himself, beseeching him to consecrate their union, thus cementing their bond. Then the Wizard called Tauriel to come forth. He placed his hand on her bowed head, asking Eru Ilúvitar to support her as a child of this new family, and he asked all the Valar to smile down upon her as she begins a new life here in Dale. He then called Sigrid, then Bain, and finally Tilda and offered them each the same blessings.

The ceremony was ended, so Thranduil and Bard kissed each other, smiling, and, hands still joined, gathered their children to them for a large and long hug, as the others smiled and clapped their hands.

The luncheon was served by some of Feren’s officers, as Galion was an honored guest at this small feast. Everyone smiled and enjoyed themselves, and soon it was time for the couple to leave for the Woodland Realm. Bard and Thranduil kissed each of the children and hugged them, and made them promise to be good. When Thranduil went to say goodbye to Tauriel, he kissed her brow, and held her in his arms, saying, _“Gwinïg, savo 'lass a lalaith, Iellig."_

Percy and Hilda, as well as Tauriel, waved them off, promising to look after the children, who stood before them waving and grinning.

 

It was a five-hour ride to Thranduil’s Palace. As they went further into the forest, he saw much beauty, but he also saw the sickness and decay that Thranduil was telling him about. Since Dol Guldur was cleared, for the time being, the Elven Army had taken advantage of this and had been scouring the woods for spiders and finding much success. Everyone knew it wouldn’t solve the problem, but for the time being, they enjoyed the safety of the road between Dale and the Halls of the Woodland Realm. Bard was relieved at this, because he was afraid for his people, when they would make the slow trek for the winter.

Gandalf and Bilbo accompanied the party on the path to Thranduil’s Palace. They planned to stay in the Woodland Realm for several weeks before wintering at Beorn’s home, then making their way back to the Shire when the Misty Mountains were passable.

Bard fell back and chatted for a bit with Bilbo and Gandalf, who were riding together. Bilbo was telling him how he didn’t care for horses, and was happy to be a passenger, anyway.

“What's the Shire like, Bilbo?”

“You’ve never been in the area, then?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve never been anywhere, before all this.”

“Well, then you and your new husband must come and visit soon, and you may stay as long as you like! You’ll love my home!” For quite a while, Bilbo and Gandalf entertained Bard, and then Thranduil, who also fell back to hear, stories of the Shire, with its green, lush hills and beautiful sunsets. Thranduil asked Bilbo several questions about the Old Forest, and some of the stories he had heard about it. Then Bilbo told them about the Green Dragon Inn, and the fireworks Gandalf used to set off at the Old Took’s birthday parties, when he was a boy. Gandalf chimed in with a charming story of a young Bilbo who tried to “slay him” with his little toy sword until his mother, Belladonna Took came to the Wizard’s rescue.

“I'd love to see a land like that, Bilbo. Peace and quiet, hearth and home… Sounds lovely. Tilda would love all the tunnels and the round doors.” Bard told him.

At last, they reached the bridge before tall, tall doors of Thranduil’s palace.

The party stopped for a moment or two, so Bard could take it all in. Thranduil looked on with pride as Bard gaped in wonder at this place he had only known from stories told him as a young lad. “This is,” he swallowed, “this is amazing!”

“And you have not yet entered my Palace, _Meleth nîn_. I am glad you like what you see so far.”

A horn blew, and the doors of the Halls of the Woodland Realm opened to receive them. They were immense and looked heavy, but Bard could see the Elves easily open them to allow them entrance. He looked around with fascination. They were underground, but it was bright and airy, and had a beauty completely different than Erebor. Both were hewn of stone, but Erebor’s design had sharp, angular patterns. Thranduil’s home was all soft, flowing vines that celebrated nature. It was huge, and looked complicated to navigate, with its many walkways and levels. Bard could see railings had already been constructed on many of them, to accommodate their winter guests.

As they dismounted, their horses were led away, Bard could see the approach of several official-looking Elves, in greeting. They bowed to their King, then to Bard, offering him welcome.

“I thank you. It’s beautiful, here.” He bowed low to them.

One of the Council members suggested a short tour, but Thranduil said, “Perhaps tomorrow. We’ve had a long ride, and we are weary. Bard and I have much to discuss.” He turned to Galion. “Please see to our things, and arrange for some food to be sent to my chambers; we will dine privately, and we are not to be disturbed until tomorrow.”

Galion nodded. “Right away sire, I shall take care of it personally.” The Steward turned to another Elf. “Please place Mithrandir and Master Bilbo’s things in the apartment next to mine, and get them settled.” To the Council members, he suggested, “Mithrandir and Master Bilbo might enjoy the tour that you so kindly suggest.”

Gandalf, eager to help distract everyone, readily agreed to a tour, even though he’d seen this palace many times. He offered to help them show Bilbo around, and quickly led the Council members away from the newly married couple, explaining that Bilbo, too, preferred living underground.

Thranduil and Bard headed straight for the Royal Wing. Neither one could wait any longer. Bard had been strung tight in anticipation for this entire trip. He _wanted_ Thranduil, and by the way the Elvenking was gripping his elbow, Thranduil felt exactly the same way.

At last, at the end of the long hall, and to the right, they reached the doors of Thranduil’s chambers. With a nod to his guards, he went in, with Bard following behind.

There were four rooms that made up Thranduil’s private chambers, but the public rooms were open and adjoined each other. A dining area with large, rectangular table was off to the left, with comfortable-looking, high-backed chairs, with cushioned seats done in a dark blue. Their design reflected the leaves and vines of the Greenwood. Celebrating nature, is what Thranduil said, and he was right. To the right, was a living area, that had two overstuffed couches, covered in a red and gold silk brocade. Several pillows in coordinating patterns and colors adorning each of the couches and the comfortable-looking chair that sat in the group. A huge fireplace was along the wall with a large oak mantelpiece and a fire already lit.

To the far left of the fireplace between the living area and the Royal bedchamber up ahead, was a corridor that housed the bathing room, and past that, the door to the necessary.  The bathing room resembled the one in their suite at Erebor, with its large, step-down pool, filled with steaming water, ready for them. Thranduil explained to him how they tapped into hot springs under the cave, and was piped in. Just like in Erebor, there were spigots. The walls of the bath were rough stone, with the same lamps protruding on the walls as in the other rooms. This corridor was accessible from both the living room and the bedchamber.

Thranduil took him back out to the Living Area and showed him the door to the right of the fireplace, leading to the adjoining apartment next door, where the children would be staying.

Then Thranduil took his hand, and brought him to the double doors at the far end of the apartment, and opened them to show him the bedchamber.

It was magnificent. The bed was bigger than the one he brought to Dale, with high, carved posters on each corner, with sheer white curtains, tied back. The spread was green, in the same pattern as the red furniture he had just seen, and it was enhanced with a darker green embroidery, contrasted with gold. The walls were a combination of smooth light stone, accented with intricate wooden carvings in the swirling, leafy patterns he had seen on the walls of the dining and living areas. The ceilings were high, and reflected the natural light from outside, somehow.  Two other doors were on the right; one opened to a smaller, adjoining room, which was once Legolas's nursery, and now used as storage, and the other led to the bathing chamber and the necessary.

“This is all so beautiful, Thranduil. I can’t even…I’ve never been anywhere so wonderful.”

Thranduil came up behind him, putting his arms around him. “It is your home, Bard, as well as mine, now. I am glad you like it.” He kissed the side of Bard’s neck. “Shall we christen our bed?”

“As soon as possible. But I’m grimy from the road and so are you. I want to wash first in that glorious tub,” Bard murmured, leaning his head to the side, as Thranduil’s lips ghosted over his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“Shall we do it together?”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’d lose my resolve, and I really want our first time to be in that bed, like we talked about. I’ll go first, then you, if that’s all right.”

Thranduil kissed his neck again. “I agree. Let me get you a robe.” He walked over to a door, to the left of the bed, which opened into a huge closet, and entered. _Of course, Thranduil would have a closet as big as my house,_ Bard smiled to himself.

Thranduil returned with a dark green robe that was, thankfully plain, but had silver and gold leaves embroidered along the lapels. “Here, let me show you where the soaps and shampoos are.” Which he did, and before too long, Bard was in all that glorious hot water, and scrubbing all the dirt and grime from his body and his hair.

When he got out of the bath, he took one of the towels and dried off thoroughly. His hair was still a bit damp, and, because of his efforts to dry it as much as possible, it was wild and unruly. He combed it out, and tried to get it to behave as best he could.

He wrapped in the robe, then opened the door that led to into the bedroom. Thranduil wasn’t there. He still had the towel he was rubbing his head with, and he wandered into the living area by the fire, where he saw his Elf, with a decanter of wine, and a tray, setting them on the table between the loungers. Someone had brought food for them to snack on, at their leisure.

His Elf came over to him, and kissed him. “Here, _Meleth nin._ Help yourself while I bathe. I promise I will be swift.”

Bard kissed him and sat down on a couch, and helped himself to the fruit, bread and cheese, and poured himself some wine. As he ate, he stared into the flames in the hearth and smiled to himself, contemplating all the changes in his life that brought him here to these very rooms. It all felt so _right._ After so many years of aching loneliness, of just existing to get by, he felt alive again. Too many people don’t even have a chance to have such love in their lives even once. And he was blessed with it twice. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be. Yet, here he was…

He’d only been in this apartment an hour, yet it felt like home to him. After he lost Mattie, his house in Laketown had turned from a home to simply a place to live and try to survive. He felt the difference between these two places keenly, and poignantly, as he ate.

Here, in the privacy of this room, while Thranduil was bathing, he raised his cup to Mattie, wherever she was, but he pretended she was sitting across from him, telling her. “Thank you, my beauty. I will always love you and never forget you.” He drank to her, because he knew that, after tonight, he will never join her where Eru had taken her. He had said his goodbyes to her long ago. He knew that, wherever she was, she approved and wanted this for him. Still, his eyes filled with tears. She had given this to him, freely, and in this moment, he could physically feel her love for him, and her wish for his happiness.

After a few moments, his husband appeared in a silky, black robe fastened with gold clasps at his neck and along his shoulder. The color contrasted with his hair beautifully, and made it look even whiter. In the warm firelight, he could see nothing cold or remote about this King who was reputed to have ice in his heart. Bard couldn’t stop staring at him, swallowing.

Thranduil walked over to him, and sat down next to him, and ran his fingers through Bard’s hair. “Sitting here, on our couch, before the fire…you take my breath away.  You are here, and you are mine,” the Elf whispered, his face full of wonder and happiness.

Bard leaned toward him, and Thranduil wrapped his arms around him. “I was telling myself how lucky I am to be blessed with love twice. I never expected any of this. I didn’t even expect to live through killing the Dragon. And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed…” Thranduil whispered, moving Bard’s hair to the side, kissing his neck. “I was thinking about Mírelen while I was bathing, and I could not stop thanking her."

“You, too?” Bard smiled.

“Yes. How could I not? You are such a gift to me. We are a gift to each other, and Eru and the Valar wish it to be so. The Elf’s nose and breath were nuzzling into Bard’s neck.

Then Bard snickered. “I’m sorry.”

“What is so funny, _Meleth nîn?”_

“I was thinking of the look on your Council’s faces when you tell them there's a new Consort in their Kingdom.”

He felt Thranduil smile against his neck. “I promise to tell you all about it. I do not think they will mind _you_ so much. They would most likely object at not having a hand in choosing you as Consort for me. If they had an inkling of my intentions toward anyone, the debate would go on for years, making me, you, and everyone else miserable.”

Bard turned on the couch toward him, and gave him a sly smile. “It would be terrible to ruin all their fun…”

“To deny my Council a good argument is torture to them. They will add ‘Thranduil the Cruel’ to their long list of my titles.” Thranduil smiled and rubbed his nose against Bard’s. He got up, holding out his hands for Bard, “Come, _Meleth nîn,”_ he whispered, and led him into the bedchamber. Candles had been lit, and their light was making shadows

Then Thranduil kissed him hard, like they had been aching to do day. Bard put his hands on Thranduil’s waist, and slowly moved them down to his hips, pulled them into him. When they touched, Thranduil let out a low, moan, and their kiss deepened, mouths opening to join their tongues in mutual exploration. Thranduil hands were buried in his thick black curls, as their bodies molded together, and their hips started moving against each other, causing them both to make noises that only spurred the other on.

Finally, they broke apart, panting, lost in each other’s gaze.

Thranduil looked thoughtful as he stroked Bard’s hair and asked him, “I must ask you to be _absolutely_ _sure_ this is what you want, Bard.  Once we do this, everything you have always expected about your life will change, and there will no going back. You are giving up the Gift of Men, and will never be reunited with your wife or your children.” Thranduil continued to stroke his hair, and Bard looked into his eyes; the grey eyes looking back at him were full of love and concern. “I love you very much, but if you do not feel you are ready for this yet, and need more time, we can find other ways to pleasure each other. I promise, I will not be angry if you want to wait.”

This was reasonable and honorable request, asked out of love for his well-being. Bard stepped back, searched his heart and his mind carefully, and found not a shred of doubt. He could ask Thranduil for time, but for what? He knew who he wanted, and he knew this was right. Even his children would be all right, he knew that deep in his heart. They would grow to love him as Bard does. He wouldn’t consider doing this at all, if he had an inkling that they wouldn’t.

He took Thranduil’s hands and kissed his knuckles. “I love you for thinking of me like this. I want an eternity with you, Thranduil, and I’m very sure, love.  I know we’ve been blessed by the Valar, and all this,” his kissed his hand again, “was a gift.” He looked deep into the Elf’s eyes. “Mattie wants this for me too. When she came to me, she told me so. It’s all right; _t_ _his_ is right.”

Thranduil put his hands on his face and kissed him. “I am glad. I too, will always love Mírelen, but my destiny is with you, _Meleth nîn. Ci veleth e-guil nîn, Bard._ We both are sure, all doubt is gone, and the joy we will feel in our joining will be magical.”

Bard leaned in to kiss him deeply, wrapping his arms around him. Their kiss was hard, wanting, and passionate. “I love you,” Bard rasped. “I love you, and I want you now, Thranduil.”

Thranduil gave him an evil little laugh. “Do you want me to show you the ‘Elf thing’”

Bard smiled happily at him. “Yes, I do. About time, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do.”

He kissed Bard again, and moved his hands toward Bard’s robe, removing it from his shoulders. Bard was working at the fastenings of Thranduil’s robes at the same time, and dropped it to the rug. Their kisses became more urgent, and their hands started scrambling faster and faster; until they broke apart, mouths open, panting.

Bard stepped back in wonder; he had never seen Thranduil completely naked before and it was a sight to behold. He stood before the tall, lean, chiseled beauty before him, and he could find no words to describe what it was like to see all of him, knowing that Thranduil was _his._ And he was going to be Bard’s for eternity. He raised his hand and touched his chest, running his fingers lightly over his pecs, that were solid and so very smooth, so perfect. He touched one of Thranduil’s pink nipples, that rose and hardened to his touch, as he listened to sharp intake of breath.

“You are beautiful. You are just so beautiful…” he said as he traced down the Elf’s stomach, to his abdomen, and his cock, long, pink and hard. He loved it, how all of his body was smooth, soft and hairless. Thranduil was an ancient being, yet there he stood before his husband, looking like he had only just been created and molded for Bard. It was always a revelation to touch his Elf, but now he was laid bare before him, offering everything to him. Bard’s fingers traced his arms, the lines of his chiseled stomach, and flank, down to his hip and around to massage his buttock. He wanted to touch every single bit of him, just like he wanted to know everything about him.

His eyes traveled over him again, then stopped at his groin, as he touched Thranduil’s cock with the tips of his fingers, running it up and down his length a few times, and then caressing its tip, as precum formed a bead at its slit. Thranduil gave a loud gasp, and grabbed his wrist and stopped him, with a smile. “You must allow me to have my turn, _Meleth nîn.”_

Thranduil began to touch Bard, ever so lightly, and everywhere. Bard closed his eyes and put his head back, reveling in the feeling and breathing harder. As Thranduil started to touch his hips, his groin, and finally, his cock with the same light touches, Bard moaned long and loud. He couldn’t help it. It was just so good.

Thranduil whispered. “I love all your hair. It’s like soft velvet, and it’s beautiful, yet it makes you look wild and savage... I love your body.” Thranduil put his arms around his waist to touch and massage his buttocks, and to pull them closer together. “I want to touch you,” he said between kisses, “I want to taste you everywhere, _Meleth nîn.”_

Thranduil gently pushed Bard back until he was sitting on the bed, then urged them up until their heads reached the pillows. As their bodies pressed against each other, head to toe, Thranduil whispered to him in his ear, _“Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen, Meleth nîn.”_ They just held each other, head to toe for several minutes, both knowing what this moment meant to them.

Bard couldn’t help the sob that came from him. After being alone for so many years, he belonged to someone who loved him.  The feeling of a warm, naked body next to his made him realize how much he had hungered for it. Thranduil must have felt the same way, because when their bodies slid together, his blue-grey eyes welled up and his voice broke, as he spoke heartfelt endearments in Elvish.

They continued exploring the other’s body, eliciting soft moans and whispering sweet words.

When Thranduil touched Bard’s cock, he had to stop him, and grabbed his fingers. It was so hard, and eager, and Bard wanted all this to last. “Please, I don’t want this to be over before it hardly gets started. I want you so much right now, I could scream…”

“You must trust me, Bard. I will make you scream in ways you can’t imagine.” Thranduil whispered into his ear, as he sucked on Bard’s earlobe.

“I don’t want anyone to run in here thinking you’re trying to murder me,” Bard smiled.

“They will not. Silencing spells are good for wartime purposes. However, tonight I find it very convenient to use for other reasons, for you will make a lot of noise, I promise you.”

Thranduil took one of Bard’s nipples in his mouth and bit it, cause Bard to moan and thrust his hips up. He felt Thranduil suckle on it, all the while, pinching and rolling the other one with his fingers. Bard ran his fingers though the hair at the back of Thranduil’s head and panted. He reached down and with his tongue, licked the point of the Elf’s ear, causing him to jerk and bite him again. Bard yelped with pleasure. There were rubbing their hips together, rubbing their cocks together, back and forth, and up and down, their faces buried in each other’s neck just letting their bodies feel each other. By this time, then were both panting, eyes closed and mouths open.

Then Thranduil kissed him, and sat up, reaching into the drawer of the side table to get a small glass jar of oil. The Elf kissed the line of his hip and his hands moved his knees apart and started lightly touching his inner thighs, getting closer and closer to his cock, and his balls. Bard threw his head back and moaned; he couldn’t help it.

“Open your eyes, _Meleth nîn._ I want you to see how much joy we bring each other.” Thranduil was settling himself between Bard’s legs, stroking his abdomen and his thighs.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Bard watched, and it was even more exciting to see the Elf touching him. His cock twitched at the very sight of it, which made Thranduil smile even wider. Thranduil settled between Bard’s legs and kissed him, his hair surrounding them like a curtain.

“Have you ever been with a man?” he asked.

“No, I’ve only ever been with my wife. But I know how this works, I want it.” He panted softly, “I want you, Thranduil.” He grabbed the back of the Elf’s neck and pulled him into a hard, open-mouthed kiss that went on and on, deeper and deeper, Thranduil giving as good as he got.

Finally, they broke apart, “I want you too, Bard. I want all of you, I want to be inside of you, to make you mine.”

“Then make me yours. Do it. I need you to, please.” Bard panted, begging him.

Thranduil looked into Bard’s eyes, “Yes. I will have you. And you will have me.  _Gi Melin, Bard”_

“I love you, too. Take me, love; make me yours for all time.”

Thranduil smiled and kissed his temple. _“I dhû hen and, Meleth nîn.”_

After kissing Bard again, Thranduil then sat up, kneeling between Bard’s legs. He uncorked the jar of oil, and the faint smell of lavender and pine filled Bard’s nostrils. The Elf put some oil on his fingers, then started touching him again; stroking his fingers, up and down; along the underside of his cock, down to his balls, and closer and closer with each stroke to his opening. Bard couldn’t help but writhe and moan; it felt so good. Then he felt a finger start to slowly enter him, and it was a sensation he couldn’t describe. He had never been touched like this before, and _Oh, he loved it._ He loved the feel of his Elf exploring him, and sending thrilling pulses to every part of him. How could it get better than this?

Immediately after that thought, Thranduil showed him how much better it could get.

"AAH!” Bard jerked his hips up, his cock throbbed hard, and he let out another cry. Thranduil found something in him that sent jolts of fire through him. “Bloody fuck! Oh, bloody fuck… Oh, Valar, it’s so good, Thranduil. Oh, fuck yes...” he babbled and writhed with surprise and pleasure. Thranduil smiled, as he rubbed and tapped that mysterious place knowing it would make him senseless with delight. Bard grabbed hard at the sheets and lifted his hips up, trying to get closer to the Elf, so he could give him more, and felt heat building inside of him. He was jerking and panting and scrunching his eyes tight, trying to understand how this could feel so good.

“Open your eyes, _Meleth_ _nîn_. Let me see how you like it.” Thranduil’s light eyes were so dilated, they were almost black with desire and his mouth was open, as he watched Bard writhe from pleasure. “Do you want more?”

“More! I need more!” Bard forced himself to form words, and this was the best he could manage.

Thranduil slowly removed his finger, and Bard took a minute to catch his breath. Then Thranduil breached him again, with two fingers. This stung, and he hissed and blew out through his mouth several times.

“Be still for a moment, try to relax and breathe, _Meleth nîn.”_

He knew Thranduil wanted him to watch, but he closed his eyes, so he could close off everything but how all of this made him feel. For as long as he lived, _he never wanted to forget a second of this…_

Soon the stinging was replaced with pleasure, as Thranduil moved his fingers in and out, in and out, each time pulling them apart just a little, to stretch him, to get him ready for when he would put his cock in him. Just the thought of that sent another thrill through Bard. He wanted that cock. It was all he could think about right now; that moment, that feeling when it would enter into him and then the Elf was his. He was relaxing, and Thranduil, stroked that same spot again with two fingers, in a circular motion.

“ _Mmmmgh_! Thranduil, I love it! Please, fuck, please don’t stop! It’s so… AAAH!” Bard cried out, gyrating his hips uncontrollably, his cock rock hard and aching. Mouth open, he was begging him to stop, but never stop. It was so very intense. It was not enough; it was too much, and it was _glorious._

Again, fingers left him, and again they slowly entered him, this time three were breaching him. Thranduil gave him a few moments to adjust and breath through it.

“So,” Bard panted heavily, “Is this the magical, wonderful thing only Elves can do?”

Thranduil laughed huskily, “Oh, no, _Meleth nîn._ Every male has this in him.”

“I had… no… idea…” Bard managed to say, before he moaned again. “I thought this was…”

“Believe me, I have only just begun. You will not be disappointed, I promise you.”

“If there is more, I’m not sure I’ll survive it, love.” Bard panted. “ _Oh, fuck_ this is so good...  So good...”

Again, with the sting of skin stretching, and muscles clamping down on them, until they could adjust. Bard groaned again; he had no idea that pain mixed with pleasure could be _so intoxicating..._   He grabbed the sheets with his hands again, grunting and moaning, trying to thrust down on Thranduil’s hand, who was sweetly torturing him inside again with the stroking of his fingers.

Words weren’t possible, now. All Bard could manage were the most primitive, feral noises. He didn’t know how loud he was, and he didn’t care. Nothing existed but how the Elf was pleasuring him, with every thrust of his long, beautiful fingers, every stroke of that place inside of him that made him feel like he was on fire, blazing from the inside. He could feel it all through him. His mouth couldn’t form words; he couldn’t even think them. All he could do was _feel._

When Thranduil emptied him again, Bard sat up, grabbed Thranduil's face and kissed him hard. “Thranduil, please, please... I need you. _You have to be with me now,”_ he begged, hoarsely. “I want your cock inside me. Fuck me. Now.” He moaned the words quickly, urgently.

Thranduil kissed him back, as he slowly lowered Bard onto his back again. then he took Bard’s hand kissed it, then poured some of the oil in Bard’s palm, and set the bottle aside. He then took Bard’s hand and placed on his own cock. _“Maetha-nin, Bard. Touch me, please, Meleth nîn, touch me…”_ The Elvenking was panting and begging, just as Bard had done, and it was beautiful and exciting, and thrilling, causing Bard’s own cock to twitch.

Bard then started lubricating Thranduil’s cock, as they kissed, circling it with his fingers, gripping it, and moving up and down with increasing speed, twisting his hand over head of it. Thranduil sat up again and moaned, throwing his head back and closed his eyes. Bard kept at it, until his Elf started thrusting his hips; jerking them erratically. Then he stopped, pulling Thranduil down to him by his hair, and kissed him, again.

Thranduil kissed him back with fervor. “I want you, too Bard. Never have I wanted anything more,  _Meleth nîn.”_  He pushed Bard’s knees apart and up, both open-mouthed, panting; with hearts pounding, looking deep into each other’s eyes…

This was it. The moment that would change _everything_ , and it was so right, it made Bard want to weep. He had never wanted anything so badly in his life. He wanted Thranduil, and everything that came with it. He huffed out a breath and swallowed hard, as his heart filled to bursting.

Thranduil took himself in hand and slowly pressed the head of his cock into him. As Bard spasmed around it, Thranduil groaned loudly. Bard gasped, and panted as the Elf slowly, slowly pressed in, his moans sending beautiful baritone shivers down his spine. Every noise he made sent tremors through Bard, spurring him on to an end he still couldn’t imagine. And he knew there would be _more_ , and the thought thrilled him. Thranduil slowly, lovingly, entered him, making those deep, low, sounds that Bard loved so much.

As Thranduil became fully seated, he stopped for a moment, and gave Bard some time to adjust, leaning over him and kissing his neck, and earlobe and nuzzling his nose. He lifted his head, and stroking Bard’s hair back from his face and looked intently into his eyes.

“We are one, _Meleth nîn."_ He breathed _."_ We are one, now." Thranduil buried his face into his neck, and they just held each other, tightly.

In this very moment, Thranduil and Bard knew beyond doubt,all their long years of loneliness and despair were over, forever. What was only a thought, now became a reality, and all traces of aching and emptiness were gone. The relief filling each of them was almost too much to bear, and they were overcome.

Thranduil slowly moved out, making sure Bard was ready, asking, “Are you all right, Bard?”

Bard was still panting at the sensation, still adjusting, and still collecting himself. “Give me a second or two more. I love you so much. Oh, Thranduil, this is so good.” He looked up at the Elf, and pulled his head down for another, deep kiss, then smirked up at him, “When do I see the ‘Elf thing?’” He grinned.

A chuckle from his Elf. “You will know." He nuzzled Bard's neck. "Keep your eyes open, look at me, and you will understand.” He kissed Bard again.

By now, Bard was ready, “Move in me, Thrandiul. I want to be yours. Fuck me. Please, fuck me."  He gasped.   _"OH!"_

Thranduil moved his hips slowly out, as both of them moaned, and moved back in, a bit faster, he did this slowly several times more, savoring the sensations, feeling more urgent, until Bard wrapped his legs around his lover and pulled him in, faster and faster. Curling his hips up to meet each thrust.

Bard was babbling, overwhelmed.   “Fuck me, Thranduil! Do it, I want more, give me more... _fuck me!”_ His voice was wrecked and urgent, as he begged his Elf to drive into him harder, faster. He couldn’t believe what making love like this did to him. This was so different; the new sensations pulsed through every part of him, with each thrust. All he could think, all he knew, was that he wanted more. He had to have more…

Thranduil sat up, pulled Bard’s hips up higher, and pushed his knees back to almost each side of his face, his hands resting on the back of his thighs, and thrust into Bard harder and harder, grunting loudly in the incredible baritone voice of his, gnashing his teeth like an animal. _“Mae ad limp mi gin;_ you are so hot, and tight! _A, Ma!”_

The position Thranduil angled him into made sure he hit Bard’s prostate every time, and the faster he went, the louder Bard’s cries were, grabbing his knees, grabbing at the sweaty sheets, scratching and clawing at Thranduil’s arms and his thighs, begging for more. He pulled Thranduil to him, kissing him, then his throat, then he began to lick and suck on the pointed tips of the Elf’s ear, which brought him the reward of loud cries and harder thrusts; slamming into him. Thranduil reached down and started stroking Bard’s cock, faster, faster…

And then, it _happened._

As Bard started to feel the tingling of his orgasm start to shoot down his spine and gather in his lower belly, a sensation in his chest of warmth, light, and pleasure was gathering as well. Despite being almost incoherent, lost in everything that his body was doing, lost in everything Thranduil was doing with him, he managed to open his eyes and look up at him. There was a glow illuminated around his lover and if he thought the Elf was beautiful before, it was _nothing_ compared to how he was now. The light was between them; on him, and then _in him_ and it enveloped them both.

He felt his orgasm build, higher, higher, and started to thrust up onto Thranduil with a strength and vigor he had never possessed before, he was incapable of even thinking in words. His eyes closed involuntarily, trying to cope with it all…

 _“Ídhron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog!_ Open your eyes, Bard! You must open your eyes, please! Look at me. Let me see you!” His Elf panted, as he thrust into him.

Bathed in light, Thranduil was looking down at him, deep into his eyes. Bard looked into the Elvenking’s stormy grey depths, and was lost in them. Something was happening now… He will never know how he did it, but… Bard was looking inside those eyes and _saw him. He literally saw him._

He saw Thranduil’s soul. He saw his heart. He saw everything about him, and all the love that had always been inside him, and his hopes his fears, his dreams, _everything, Everything!_ It was there for the taking- all that Thranduil had ever been, could ever be, _was offered up to Bard!_ The spirit, living in the depth of those beautiful eyes, wanted to touch his own, wanted to be his, and Bard looked straight into those beautiful depths and offered his own. _I want you, Thranduil. You are so beautiful and I want to be with you, I love you. Here I am, here is all of me, and I want it to be yours, I want to completely be yours… Yes, please… I want to be with you… I love you. I love you so so much…_

When the spirits in each of them met, and joined, as well as their bodies, Bard came. Screaming in ecstasy, arching his back high off the bed, it seemed to go on forever, and still he came. He thrust his hips up to meet Thranduil, over and over, seeing stars, lightening shoot all through him, again and again. He was sobbing hard; he couldn’t help it. Tears were streaming out of the corners of his eyes. Miraculously, his eyes never left Thranduil’s for a second through all of this; he was hardly able to contain and cope with all that was happening, but he couldn’t look away. His entire existence right now was lost in a sea of blue-grey, and he wanted to stay for all eternity… He didn’t know if he was making any noise or even if he was breathing, all he knew was joy and love.

At last, he felt his pleasure beginning to wane and he managed to take a few deep breaths. He barely had time to collect himself, before _something else_ began to happen… It was impossible, miraculous, but…

Eyes still locked together, Bard felt the buildup all over again, and he knew what it was. Somehow, he just knew.

_It was Thranduil._

He was feeling Thranduil’s cock inside of him tremble and start to pulse inside of him, still fucking him; claiming him, making him his forever, all the while the Elf was crying out his name and babbling in Elvish. He could _literally feel_ all the rapture surging through Thranduil’s body in crashing waves, and couldn’t stop himself from crying out again, as he hung on desperately, not wanting to miss a second of it.

It was like nothing he could have ever imagined. He felt and moved through Thranduil’s climax, even after having the most intense orgasm of his entire life. He screamed incoherently again, arched his back again, felt the waves again… _Oh Valar…_ It was Thranduil’s turn to be overcome, and Bard could see and feel the tears fall from his eyes, and land on his own face, as the Elf thrust through the heights of his own climax, taking Bard with him. Both were crying out and sobbing, both were unable to form words in their mind as they were lost. Both were digging their fingers into each other’s flesh, trying to make their bodies crawl inside each other, just as their spirits had done.

At long last, they gradually began to come down, still thrusting against each other, jolting and moaning, crying out through all the aftershocks, weeping from the sheer pleasure and joy of their joining. This went on for some minutes, their movements becoming slower, their sounds softer.

Finally, finally, they both stopped and just held each other, foreheads pressed together, catching their breaths. They were both soaked with sweat, faces soaked with tears, overwhelmed and sated beyond anything Bard could have conceived.

This would take years to recover from, he thought. Never in his life had he known sex this intense, this glorious, and never had an orgasm lasted that long, so extreme that it brought him to the brink of insanity and back.

And then, to experience it all over again, with the one he loved… How could he ever be the same? How can the world be the same, after something like this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. This was a completion and fullness that he never imagined possible. The Bard he had been, was gone forever.  It was all different now, not just inside of him, but all around him, too. 

There will never be enough words that could describe it fully, but he wanted to spend the rest of his life attempting to.

After many minutes, Thranduil softened, removed himself from Bard, who moaned softly at his emptiness, and rolled off him, to lay by his side, face up, still panting.

When Bard was, at last, able to think coherently, he turned his head to Thranduil and smiled. “So...”

“Yes?” Thranduil looked at him, with one of those teethy grins that Bard loved so much.

“So, that was the ‘Elf thing,’ huh?” He asked, still breathing heavily.

A deep, wicked laugh came his husband. “Was it to your satisfaction?”

"Meh," Bard shrugged, “I could take it or leave it."

Thranduil snickered, and jabbed him with his elbow.

Then they both began laugh in earnest, out of sheer joy.

Thranduil moved to lay on his side, and traced his finger along Bard’s jaw. “How do you feel, Bard? Please tell me.”

Bard turned to face him, smiling, then took his hand and kissed it. Becoming serious, he said, “I've never felt anything like it… I still can’t believe it happened…" He kissed his hand again. “The light… I really _saw_ _you_! It was so much more than sex, but _that_ was the most fantastic sex I've ever had!  I felt you come, Thranduil! I could feel it!” Bard was struggling to come to terms with all of it, looking at his husband with wide, wondering eyes.

Thranduil removed his hand from Bard’s and started stroking Bard’s cheek. “It was so much better than I had imagined, too, Bard.” He smiled. “I am so glad you wanted this with me.”

“Will it always be like that?”

“Will we feel each other’s pleasure? Yes, that is part of the gift of joining." He smiled at Bard. "The joy and light of the our first time, can happen only once, I am afraid. That is why an Elven marriage is so intense and special. That is why you needed to be _sure_.  It would not have happened, if you had any doubts. _"_

“I can see that now. You were right not to tell me ahead of time; I loved finding out this way. I can’t begin to describe it. All I know is when I saw you, all of you, I wanted it like nothing else. Is that what it was like for you?” Bard asked.

Thranduil took Bard’s hand, and placed it on his own chest. “Yes, Meleth nîn. I loved what you offered me and I feel you inside of me now, and it completes me. I am whole, in the best of ways. The emptiness is gone, because now, you are there.” His voice trembled when he said it. “I know true happiness and joy again, because you are with me.” Thranduil kissed him. “I love you, my husband.”

“I love you, too, my husband.” Bard said, after they kissed. “I feel so… different. Especially inside. There's a... fullness that didn’t exist before, and you're there, as well as me. It’s like I feel you.” He marveled. “I know you’re in my heart now.” A tear was escaping his eye. “It’s….”

Thranduil kissed him, and put his hand over Bard’s heart, who grasped it. “What you feel, _Meleth nîn_ , is _us_. The two of us are now more than we ever were separately. It is indescribably beautiful. _Ned i postog a nin, ni bant._ We are complete, now.”

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Savo 'lass a lalaith, Iellig_ – I wish you joy and laughter, my daughter

 _Ci veleth e-guil nîn, Bard_ – You are the love of my life, Bard

 _Gi Melin, Bard_ – I love you, Bard

 _Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen, Meleth n_ în – You and I will wed a thousand times in this bed, my love.

 _I dhû hen and, Meleth nîn_ – You are in for a long night, my love

 _Maetha-nin, Bard_ – Touch me, Bard

 _Mae ad limp mi gin_ – It is soft and wet inside you

 _A, Ma!_ – Oh, yes!

 _Ídhron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog_ \- I want to see your eyes when you come

 _Ned i postog a nin, ni bant_ – When you lie beside me, I am complete

NOTES:

Thank you to this website for help with the Sindarin:  
https://realelvish.net/phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our newlyweds enjoy a day of bliss, before Thranduil officiates at the funeral for his people. Bard offers him help during the ceremonies and after, in the best of ways.
> 
> During Bard's tour of the Royal Wing, he gets to see where his family will be staying, and learns more about his new husband in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And hope you enjoyed the Wedding night of our married couple last chapter. Here is the story of the day after, and I hope you like it.
> 
> A couple of years ago, [sailingonstardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingonstardust/pseuds/sailingonstardust) composed a wonderful collection of stories for the ["30 days of Barduil"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277574) prompts. They're really wonderful.
> 
> A beautiful story called ["A'maelamin. Tampa - Stop."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277574), was written by [BoundyBrittonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BouncyBrittonie/pseuds/BouncyBrittonie) is worth a look. It's very descriptive and moving.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!

 

 

Thranduil sat across from his husband at the table, and could hardly eat; he was so enamored with his Bowman!  Their wedding night was more than he could have ever wished for, and the moment of their joining, watching the sheer ecstasy in Bard’s face, while feeling him experience it all, will remain one of the most joyous memories in his long life.

That first time, when their _fëas_ became one, was truly a gift given to Elves, and he was happy Eru allowed Bard to feel it, as well. He hadn’t known exactly what would happen, or how much a Mortal like Bard would actually experience. 

Bard, in accepting Thranduil into his body, changed his fate forever. This took a tremendous amount of courage, and, when asked to take a moment and be sure, his Bowman didn’t hesitate, and he had been richly rewarded for it, to Thranduil's great joy and relief.  What followed had been so intense and immense, it brought them both to tears.

The newly married couple had spent all of last night and most of this day in bed, talking, napping, snacking, making love, and just holding each other, pretending the outside world didn’t exist, if only for a short while. They spent a leisurely hour in the bathing pool, before finally emerging to sit down for an early dinner at the table.

Bard was still dressed in his green robe that Thranduil had gifted him, after seeing how it brought out the same color in his lovely, warm eyes. Everything about the Man was warm and inviting, yet wild and fierce in a way that Thranduil would never get enough of. How could he take his eyes off him? Why would he ever want to?

“Hey there, you. What are you thinking on, over there?” Bard was tilting his head to one side, looking back at him.

“I am thinking about you, _Meleth nîn._ Always.” He gave his husband a smile. “How could I not, when I have such a wonderful husband?  I will always smile when you are here with me.”

“I hope you have that same smile, once you meet with your Council tomorrow.” Bard reminded him. “Are you expecting fireworks?”

“I honestly do not know what to expect. By the time I meet with them, word of your presence in my chambers will have reached them, which is not a bad thing.  They will have many questions, of course.  I have asked Mithrandir to attend, so I believe he will assist me in assuring them of the Valar's assistance in this matter.  They must be told of your new Immortal status, but I shall swear them to secrecy for the sake of your family and your people.  

"I hope you do not mind, but I think it best you do not attend. Not that I believe they would be cruel or disrespectful, but I would like to speak with them openly, and gauge their genuine reaction and deal with any concerns they might have. I am afraid, if you were there, they would be too guarded in their responses.”

Bard agreed.  “I think that’s a good idea. Besides, I am your husband and Consort, not your Co-Ruler. My absence would hopefully demonstrate that I have no designs on political power in your Kingdom. If you want me to sign something to that effect, I would be happy to do it. Tell them that.”

“I will, and thank you for the offer.”

“Oh, don’t go thinking I’m being generous, here.” He said with a wry smile. “I don’t want the job! Ruling one Kingdom is more than enough to drive me crazy. The last thing I need is to be responsible for another one on top of it!” He laughed. “I don’t know anything about this Kingdom, or the Elves. It would be foolish for me to even think of it. Your Council has to be aware of that.”

“If they do not believe so at first, I am sure they will be persuaded of it when they meet you as my Consort. We will have to meet them together before we leave, simply to make formal introductions, and to arrange the announcement of my marriage formally to my Kingdom.”

The meeting with the Council would take place tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, however, was the memorial service for the fallen of the Woodland Realm. After Thranduil finished his meal, he would dress in his formal robes, to begin visiting the families personally.

Galion had arranged the gathering in the Dining Hall so that he could sit with each family for a few minutes, express his condolences and encourage them to speak of their lost loved one. He had wondered if he should go to each of their homes, but Galion suggested that by gathering together, the grieving could find comfort with each other. For those families coming from outlying villages, housing had been arranged in the Palace for them to stay in warmth and comfort.

A formal ceremony will take place at midnight, under the Stars. Songs will be sung, and, as with the funeral in Dale, names will be read.

Bard offered to go with him, but Thranduil gently declined. “I thank you, _Meleth nin,_ , but I must to do this alone. I hope you understand.  Even Mithrandir will not attend. My people need my full attention, and I want them to feel free to express their grief without the distractions of outsiders. Please do not feel slighted.”

“I understand, love. They deserve your full consideration. I’ll be fine here.” Bard reassured him. “To be honest, I’d like an evening to myself. Do you realize I’ve not been alone in months? I was used to spending much of my time on the river, with nothing but the sounds of the water and the birds.  I enjoyed the quiet. Since the Dwarves came to Laketown, I haven't had one minute to call my own, and I miss it.  I’d really enjoy just sitting by the fire, and relaxing with a good book, if Galion can find me one.” He smiled. “Or, I might just try and get some sleep. You’ve kept me pretty busy since yesterday.”

“Yes, _Meleth nîn,_ I have.” Thranduil grinned. “Are you sore at all?”

"Aye, I was... a bit sore. The bath helped. Did you put some _Athelas_ in it?"

Thranduil laughed. “I have an oil made from _Athelas_ that I put in the water, much like your bath the night of the Battle. I must admit, I needed it just as much as you.”

Bard snickered, “If that’s the case, we'll need to keep huge jugs of that stuff around. “I was surprised I wasn’t hurting more, to tell you the truth, but I’m not going to argue with it.”

“Perhaps your body is becoming different, as well as your fate, Bard. Gandalf said he did not know how this would affect you. It is certainly something to watch carefully.”

Bard was thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, _Hervenn.”_

“I’m still getting used to…this. To you, in here.” He placed his hand on his chest. “It feels so different. _I_ feel so different. But what I want to know is, will I feel everything you feel? When we're apart, I mean. How does it work?”

“I am not sure what you will experience, as a Man, but, yes, when two Elven _fëas_ are joined, they feel the strong emotions of their mate. Especially when we are together physically, as you know.” He smiled.

“If this is what it’s always like for Elves, why do you bother to get out of bed?” Bard marveled. “How do you get anything done? Our first time was… Stars, I can’t even describe it.”

“I think it is your gift for choosing to be bound to my fate. There are other things some joined Elven couples can do, such as speak into each other’s minds.”

“Seriously? You mean read each other’s thoughts?”

“Not exactly. They…talk without talking, if you can understand that.  These Elves mostly live in Lothlórien, Lord Celeborn’s, realm. Silvan Elves do not do this, and neither do I. I do not wish to, either.”

“Neither would I. It sounds creepy. Can you imagine being around a couple like that? It would be unnerving.” Bard shuddered.

“Not to mention, very rude.”

Changing the subject, Bard asked, “You’ve referred to the idea of the “Gift of Men” a few times, when we speak of death. Why do you think that way?”

“Immortality does not mean an Elf has the vigor to enjoy life, Bard. It is not always a blessing to outlive so many. An Elf’s long life can be full of loss and emptiness, with little joy in it to compensate. We become weary of this world.  That is why many sail to Valinor.  Middle Earth holds no joy for them any more.  Another gift Men possess is the ability to fall in love and marry again, while they are here on Middle Earth. As you know, when an Elf loses a spouse, they are doomed to a long, endless life alone. I am grateful to Mírelen for allowing me to know love a second time. Otherwise…”

“I’m sorry, and I don’t want to insult Eru or the Valar, but it seems cruel to expect an Immortal to live thousands of years full of grief and loss. When I think of Tauriel, I can't help but feel frustrated."  Bard’s face was sad. Then he looked at Thranduil, thoughtfully. “When I first met you, I thought were standoffish and unfeeling. Now I know you were just sad and afraid, and trying not to show it.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement. “I think I began to run from things, during the War when…I received my scars. After a while, I did not know how to stop.  When I fell in love with Mirelen, it changed, and she gave me courage.  Then she was taken from me, and it was worse than ever.  I knew I should have been better, and I tried, but I couldn't, and I truly hated myself." 

Bard nodded. “I tend to show fear by being angry. You saw that when I ruined my sword the night of the Battle. Most of it was the terror I'd been through that day, and having no idea how I was going to help my people. I understand, love, and you're doing so much better.  Please think on that, and not on things you can't change."

Thranduil looked down at his empty plate. “I do not like how I have treated those closest to me. In this way, you are stronger than I am.  You do not inflict your fear or anger on those you love.  I have seen you with your children, _Meleth nîn_. Even during the Battle, after you saved them from the Troll, I saw you turn to them and comfort them."

Thranduil reached for Bard’s hand. “When I saw you be so tender toward them, amidst all that terror and death, I think that is when I began to fall in love with you. I had wanted to help you, for Dale's sake, Bard, but after I saw you with them, I needed to know you, for myself.”

Bard got up from his chair and pulled Thranduil into his arms, as the Elf buried his face into the warmth of his husband’s neck, as they held each other.

“Do you want to know when I first began to have feelings for you?” Bard whispered.

“When was that, _Meleth nîn?”_

He heard Bard’s chuckle. “That same night, when you were trying not to check me out, when you helped me into the bath.” He laughed. “You were trying _sooooo_ hard to be this stern, practical Elvenking, yet you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.  You were blushing!"

Thranduil pulled his head back with raised eyebrows. “I was simply assessing you for injuries," he protested. “Elvenkings do not blush.”

“ _My Elf_  blushed that night, and you still do. Especially when you’re moaning and screaming my name…”  Bard grinned wickedly.

Before he could come up with an argument, Bard was kissing him, thus ending the debate. After several minutes, they pulled apart, their foreheads touching, breathing softly.

Then Bard looked at him with a smirk. “You do look beautiful, when you blush. I like knowing I’m the one who can bring such color to the Mighty Warrior-King’s cheeks.” He kissed Thranduil’s nose, as the Elf rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Bard changed the subject, as he pulled Thranduil over to the couch and they sat down. “About this Immortality…are most Elves as old as you?”.

“Elrond is much older than me, and so is Galion.  He grew up with my father.  My cousin, Lord Celeborn is also older, and his wife, the Lady Galadriel, is older than all of them. As a matter of fact, she was born in Valinor. Cirdan, the shipwright, who lives in the Grey Havens, is thought to be the oldest Elf on Middle Earth.  Galadriel is of the Noldor race of Elves and, by far, the most powerful Elf in Middle Earth today.”

“I’ve heard of her. Some call her a Witch.” 

“She is not, but I can understand the stories.  Many people make the mistake of fearing and judging things they do not understand. I am the most powerful Elf in the whole of Greenwood, but she is much more powerful than me.”

"What's so different about the Noldor Elves?"

"Mostly their violent history, both here in Middle Earth, and even in Valinor.  My father held a deep distrust of the Noldor, and he and Amdir led a group of Sindar to found the Kingdoms of Greenwood and Lorien, although their motive was more than avoiding Noldorian domination.  Both Kings had a desire to lead simpler, more natural lives as the Silvans do.

"When I insulted Tauriel by saying my son could not bond with a 'lowly Silvan...'" he shook his head.  "Now you know, Bard, why I never thought such a thing."

"I can see that," Bard nodded.  "So... Gil-Galad was the High King of Elves?"

"Yes, and my father and King Amdir resented him."  Thranduil sighed.  "That resentment led to their deaths in the War of the Last Alliance."

"What did you think of Gil-Galad?"

"I had no grudge with him personally.  I would never speak ill of my father's decision to lead the charge that day, you understand, but I got along with him well." The Elvenking smirked.  "I suspect Elrond helped with that.  I also suspect that King Amdir egged my father until Oropher agreed.  I never liked him, and thought even less of his son, Amroth.  They were both weak and foolish."

Bard thought about this.  "So, if your father didn't like the Noldor, he must have hated the fact that Celeborn married one."

"He was suspicious though Galadriel's family line were of those who rejected the actions of their kin.  Still, he doubted her."

"How do you personally feel about her?" Bard asked.

"I trust and respect her, even more now that she sacrificed so much to rid Dol Guldur of the Dark One's presence."

“She is your cousin's wife, you said?”

“Yes. Lord Celeborn, and my father are both kin to Elu Thingol - third cousins once removed. Lord Elrond’s wife is Celebrain, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel.”

“Really? So, they are his in-laws?”

Thranduil sighed and smiled sadly at his husband. “I would love to tell you more, _Meleth nîn,_ but I must now prepare to endure this evening’s ceremonies and need to muster my strength for it, I hope you understand.

“Absolutely. Whatever you need. You never have to face anything alone, Thranduil. Don’t forget that.”

Thranduil kissed his new husband. “I will not. You bring me such joy, Bard.” 

 

Much later that evening, Thranduil stood on his dais, underneath the stars, and led his people in the long, long lament for the fallen. Each Elf who left Middle Earth in this Battle, was prayed for, and the petitions went up to Eru Ilúvitar, and the Vala Mandos, to bid them welcome in his Halls, and to his sister, Nienna, the Queen of Sorrow to comfort and counsel the fallen as they spent their time with her brother in his home.

Their _Nirnaeth Glîr_ went on for hours, its harmony changing as each Elf that was lost was named, while their loved ones looked up to the stars, hoping to find comfort and strength from them. It was a moving ceremony and a beautiful song - worthy of the good _ellyn_ and _ellyth_ that were now gone.

Thranduil was engulfed in the sadness of it all; he didn’t try to be stoic. He let the tears flow, as thoughts of each named Elf came to mind. He always tried to know them all, even if only a little, and he was glad of it now, as hard as it was to say goodbye to them. His voice broke, and for a second or two, his song faltered. He became anxious and upset; he didn’t want to let down his people, but it was too much to bear. He couldn’t –

Suddenly, he felt a surge of vigor and hope flow through him, and he found a way to regain his voice, and continue to serve his people. What had happened? How was it possible? Then he knew the answer: It was Bard. It had come from his husband.

From the comfort of their chambers, Bard must have sensed his despair, and was sending him comfort and strength and love, to help him continue.

As the song was ending, Thranduil looked to the stars in the clear night, shining down on all his people. He saw one star especially, as it appeared to be coming closer, and much brighter, than the rest.

It was Eärendil the Mariner.

Normally, he moved across the sky in his ship, carrying his bright _Silmaril._ But for these moments, he stopped, and the jewel sent comfort and healing, bathing those in mourning with its bright, pure white light. As one, he and his people lifted their hands, palms up, to the sky, and basked in grace-filled starlight.

As one, he and his people closed their eyes, and turned their faces skyward allowing warm glow flow through them, easing the pain of those left behind.

It was an unforgettable moment, and many songs would be written about this miracle granted to them, but now, there were no words that could contain this, and no one was foolish enough to try.

Eärendil’s son, Elrond must have petitioned his father to look down on Thranduil’s people and bestow them with his own blessing. He hoped those in mourning would find much comfort in Eärendil’s precious gift. After a few minutes, the star’s ethereal glow drew back, farther into the sky, as the Mariner raised his sails again, to continue his journey.

Their hearts lifted, Elves sang a song of thanksgiving for this grace bestowed upon them. Once that was finished, Thranduil offered a benediction, and the last funeral for those lost in the Battle of Five Armies was committed to history.

 

When Thranduil returned to their chambers, sober and weary, he found his Bowman in bed, reading a book Galion must have gotten for him. As he entered the bedchamber, Bard closed his book and sat up straighter. Thranduil sat down beside him on the bed, and stroked his hair, looking at his face, unable to find words.

Then Bard opened his arms and whispered, “Come here.”

Thranduil fell into those arms and wept for those who died, and for those who were left behind. He wept, too for Mírelen, because the pain on the faces he saw tonight brought back his own agony, when she died in his arms. It was so long ago, yet things like this brought those horrible memories back like they happened yesterday.

He felt Bard’s hand on the back of his head, stroking through his hair, and he felt his lips kiss his temple and the top of his head, making soothing sounds, until he calmed.

Then Bard eased Thranduil into a sitting position, and started to unclasp his robe fastenings. “Come on, love. Let’s get you into bed, all right? Let me make you feel better.”

Thranduil got up, and finished undressing, setting his clothes on a chair for Galion to take care of. He went to take care of necessities and to wash, while Bard got up and poured them something to drink.

The lamps were lowered when he returned to bed, and Bard held the covers back for him, and he climbed in, nestling against his husband’s warmth against his chest and put his head on Bard’s shoulder.

“I have cried more in the past two months than I have for centuries, Bard! I am sick of it! How many tears can someone have in them?"

He felt Bard kiss his hair, as Thranduil took a sip of his water. It felt good against his parched throat.

“Go easy on yourself, love.  Everyone is trying to recover from loss and grief these days. Plus, you’re trying hard to face up to things, now. This won’t go on forever, I promise. You’re still healing from hurts you’ve carried for longer than I can fathom. Learning to feel, and to handle your emotions is hard. The good thing is, you don’t have to do it alone.”

“Thank you, _Meleth_ _nîn_ ,” he said to Bard, in a thin, faraway voice, as he closed his eyes and sank into the warmth of his husband. Then he turned to look up at him, “You helped me when we were singing, Bard. I knew it was you. Did you know I would feel it?”

“No, I didn’t. All I knew was, I was sitting on the couch with my book and I felt this terrible... sadness.” Bard rubbed his chest. “I wondered if it was you, so I just tried to think of what I would say if you were standing in the room with me. I had no idea if it would help or not.”

“It did. You helped me go on, and I am grateful. It was hard, but my people deserved as much as I could give them. Something else happened, too. I have never seen anything like it…”

Then Thranduil told him about the visit from Eärendil the Mariner, once the singing was finished.

Bard was wide-eyed. “That’s amazing! Do you think it will help the ones your soldiers left behind?”

“I hope so. I want whatever will ease the hurt and suffering of my people. If the grace the Mariner paid them helps them to stay in Middle Earth, I am grateful, too. I will need many to help when the time comes, but I do not want their time here to be full of suffering. I know some will leave for the West, but I think perhaps not so many are in danger of fading, now. I have been afraid of that.”

“I don’t blame you for worrying about that, love.” Bard kissed his head. “Only time will tell.”

“I love you, Bard.” He whispered.

“ _Gi Melin,_ Thranduil.”  He sat up and put their cups on the bedside table, then urged Thranduil down onto the pillows, and kissed his mouth, gently. He stroked his hair back and kissed his eyes, and his nose, and ears, then down his neck, as his hands, stroked him lightly. Then he moved lower, and kissed one of his nipples, causing Thranduil to gasp quietly. He kissed the other nipple, and began to suckle on it, while his fingers rubbed across the other one, and rolled it between his fingers. Thranduil ran his fingers through Bard’s black, wavy curls as he lost himself in the sensations, his breathing increasing.

Bard raised his head kissed him again, this time more urgently, delving his tongue into the Elf’s mouth, still stroking his nipples. Thranduil ran his hands over Bard, and meant to return some of the attention he was being given, but Bard stopped him.

“No, love, let me.” He whispered to him, kissing his nose. “Just lie still, close your eyes. Concentrate on how it feels, and let me do this for you.”

Then Bard kissed his way down, past his chest, and began leaving wet kisses over the curve of his hips, and using his hands, gently parted his legs. He crawled between Thranduil’s legs, and lifted one of his feet, leaving kisses trailing slowly up his calves, behind his knees, then running his hands along his thighs, so lightly, as he began to lick and kiss his inner thighs.

 _“A, ma, Bard. Avo dharo …”_   Thranduil, cried, eyes closed, feeling so much love for Bard, lost in his touches. Bard stroked his hips and his abdomen, as his lips moved closer to his cock, which was half-hard already. He felt a hand cup his balls and massage them gently, then there were lips taking his entire length in to a warm, wet mouth.

Luckily, Bard had his arm across Thranduil’s hips, because he couldn’t help himself from jerking upwards. His breaths were becoming rapid and now, instead of relaxing, he was aroused and wanting more. Bard was not being gentle in his ministrations, which had Thranduil fully hardened in seconds, making whimpering noises. Bard’s hand moved from his balls massage the space behind them, and then there were fingers stroking and circling his entrance, flooding him with waves of vibrations, as Bard hummed against him at the same time.

He cried out wordlessly, and ran his hands through Bard’s hair, stopping him. “Please, _Meleth nîn,_ I don’t want to come just yet. I need this to last, it is so good…”

Bard sat up, kissing his mouth and reached over to the bedside drawer and got the scented oil. A pop of the cork, and soon the room smelled faintly of lavender and pine. After slicking his fingers, he kissed him again, deeply, then suckled on his nipple, hard, causing Thranduil to cry out again, as he circled and teased his entrance once again, while lightly stroking his inner thighs and his balls. Then he slowly inserted a finger as Thranduil inhaled deeply, his mouth open. His groans became louder, and Bard curled his finger and massaged his gland with just the right pressure to send thrills all through him.

“That’s it, love… Let me make you feel so good…” Bard whispered in his husky, soft voice, which sent more thrills through Thranduil, and he gasped when Bard stroked him just right inside. “Do you like that? Show me how much you like it, love.” Thranduil nodded and whimpered.

By the time Bard had two fingers in him, he was panting, and trying to talk to Bard, to put words in to what this was doing to him and how wonderful it felt, but he just couldn’t. All he could do was moan his pleasure and approval. Bard rubbed inside him with small, circular motions, while his other hand stroked his groin, his inner thighs, his cock and his balls. Oh, this was bliss…

When Bard took him in his mouth again, Thranduil cried wordlessly, as his tongue played over his head, and over that sensitive place underneath it, faster and faster, while still working his inside open. They had been together recently, so it didn’t take much, and Thranduil could feel his ring of muscles soften and relax quickly. He couldn’t help the noises he was making, which was good, because, when Bard lifted his head, he seemed pleased.

“Now, Bard, please. I want you inside of me. I need you, please!” He begged urgently, throwing his head back, with closed his eyes, as Bard continued to stroke inside of him, and he continued begging for his husband to take him.

 _A, ma… Ma, ma, ma… Pathro nin, pathro nin…_ The words, ran through his mind, over and over, at a frantic pace. It was the most sense he was capable of, right now… This is what he wanted, what he needed.

He felt fingers slowly withdraw, then Bard placed Thranduil’s knees over each shoulder, as felt Bard's thick, oiled cock started entered him, slowly.  Bard closed his eyes, and moaned deeply, in that soft, breathy voice the Elf loved so much. Once he was seated fully, Bard leaned down, panting, and kissed him hungrily, as Thranduil met his kiss and deepened it.

“Please, move, _Meleth nîn._ Take me." Thranduil begged. "Take what is yours. I will always be yours.”

Bard began to move in him with short, quick thrusts, which was glorious. The position he was in was perfect; each thrust rubbed against that sweet spot inside, over and over.  "Right there, Bard!  It is there!  Please..." Thranduil desperately hung on to Bard, grunting and moaning, like an animal, needing more.   Soon, Bard grunted loudly, and his thrusts were longer, as they egged each other on. Thranduil ran his hands over Bard’s thighs, feeling the powerful muscles move with him, then his hands ran through the thick black curls he loved so much, before he started to rub and squeeze his nipples.

“AH!  I love it... Oh, fuck, you feel so good, Thranduil…” Bard managed to say, between moans and gasps. He then increased his speed and power, slamming into Thranduil with long, hard strokes, and they both were reduced to grunts and groans as their pleasure increased, until Bard suddenly grabbed Thranduil by his hair, and pulled it so his head moved back. Then he kissed him, hard, while he put his other hand around the Elf’s cock and started to stroke it, faster and faster.

Bard lifted his head, but kept his face close to his, saying, “Look at me now, love. Look at me. I’m here with you, Thranduil. You’ll never be alone again, I promise you. I love you so much.”

Those words, as much as everything else his husband was doing to him, sent him over the edge into rapture, crying out Bard’s name as he came, their eyes locked on to one another. Bard followed him seconds later, still thrusting, feeling their own, and each other’s pleasure, thus amplifying their orgasm to incredible heights.

Once they became calmer, Bard took Thranduil’s knees off his shoulders, and rubbed his legs for a few moments.  The Elf pulled his husband back down to him and wrapped his arms and legs around him.  This enveloping closeness, was so beautiful.  In this warm embrace, there was nothing but ultimate comfort, nothing but the two of them. Nothing existed in their world when they were like this, except each other, and their love flowing within them and within each other.

They needed no words, as they fell asleep, holding each other, in complete contentment.

 

After a late breakfast the next morning, the couple left the Elvenking’s chambers, and Thranduil took him on a tour of the Halls. The first place he took Bard, was the through the door by the fireplace into the apartment where Sigrid, Bain and Tilda would be sleeping. It was basically a suite with a communal area, much like the rooms that Bard and his family stayed in at Erebor, and with three bedchambers off of the main room, and a private bath. Another door opened to the main hallway.

Bain would be staying in Legolas’s room this winter, so his son’s personal belongings had been moved out temporarily, to make room for Bain’s. Thranduil decided to keep the tapestries and some of the drawings on the walls. He thought Bain might enjoy them. The young boy thought of Legolas as a hero, and  
Thranduil thought staying here might make him feel more comfortable.

The bed was the very one that had been removed from Thranduil’s rooms after Mírelen’s death. As soon as Legolas reached his majority, Galion took him to the storage room and showed it to him, telling him of the gift from his maternal grandparents to his mother. Legolas asked that it be immediately set up in his room, so a new mattress and linens were made for it, and the wood was cleaned and polished, like new again.

Galion only told Thranduil about this after it was done, which triggered some anxiety for Thranduil, but he said nothing. The bed belonged to his son, and Legolas had every right to it. This was his own dilemma, and his son had suffered enough from it. But he never stepped into Legolas’s bedroom after that.

Seeing it now made his chest feel tight and his stomach lurch, and he quickly stepped out of the room and into the living area. Bard looked at him, and knew something was wrong, and hugged him. “I told you, I’ll help you think of a way to bring him back to you. We will, I promise, but this is more than missing Legolas, isn’t it?”

He nodded to Bard. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

“Aye, love. I want to help, if I can.”

Thranduil buried his head in the crook of Bard’s neck and sighed. Then he got hold of himself and stood up straight. “I must get used to it, Bard. I must get used to facing things, because your children will be here, and I will not inflict my own problems on them. I cannot do that to them, or to you.”

“That’s good, love. I think the more you stand up to it, the less power these things might have over you.”

Marshaling his courage, he took Bard by the hand and they walked back into the room with its ornate bed, and stood there, allowing the feelings and memories to come. He closed his eyes, and breathed, in and out…

“Tell me.” Bard whispered.

“When Mirelen and I were married, the ceremony was held here, in the Palace Gardens, in the spring as I told you, and we wed in that clearing, on a bed of flowers.” His voiced sounded lost and small, even to him. He had to make himself breathe, and his anxiety grew.

“It’s all right love. I’m here.” Bard rubbed his arm up and down, gently encouraging him. “Keep breathing; you’re doing really well.”

“It is just that… It was such a terrible time, Bard. I know you understand what it was like. Only someone who has lost a wife they truly loved, can know what agony it was. And…I was terrified. I was so afraid, for myself, my son, and my Kingdom. I had to keep from fading. I couldn’t let my life end that way.”

Thranduil’s voice wobbled, and he swallowed hard a few times, but he made himself say it. “I was afraid if my body faded to nothingness, my fëa could not go to Valinor. I doubt that is true, but my fear was very real, then. I was afraid to face anything, while I was in such pain. I did not know if it would help me, or make it worse, and if it became worse, then… I could die, Bard.”

“Oh, Thranduil…” Bard’s eyes shone. “I’m so sorry.” He stroked his cheek, then took Thranduil’s hand, and encouraged him to continue.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed absolutely still inside. I couldn’t let myself look at it, even a little. I ran away. I buried it. I do not want to do that anymore. I made myself forget all the wonderful things she was to me, and I robbed my son of her memory. I robbed myself, too.”

He went back over to the bed and traced the intricately carved posts with his finger. He made himself continue. “This was our wedding gift from her parents. They had brought it with them, along with the caravan bringing all the wedding guests from Rivendell. Neither one of us knew about it, until the morning after we wed, and they surprised us with it.”

“It’s very beautiful.” Bard told him.

They stood together, quiet for several minutes, while Thranduil concentrated on breathing deeply. Just as the night before, when he was faltering during the funeral, he felt his husband send him a surge of reassurance, soothing his heart…

“Yes, it is beautiful, Bard. I hope to take you to Rivendell someday, and you will see how this frame is fashioned after all the architecture there. They had it made this way, so Mírelen would have a part of her home with her, always.” He smiled a little. “I remember when we first came into our bedchamber, and she saw it.”

As Thranduil spoke, his breathing became regular, and he felt more and more comfortable and safe remembering things. There was no danger of fading now, he knew this. Galion had explained to Bard that his body needed to be taught to react differently, and it would take time, effort, and practice.

“I’ll bet she loved it.”

“Yes, she did. She laughed with delight when she saw it, and you will never guess what she did next.”

“What did she do?” Bard smiled at him.

“She ripped off her shoes, climbed up on it, and started jumping up and down. I do not quite know what happened, but soon I was jumping up and down on the bed with her. I do not think I had laughed that hard since I came back from the War.”

“Ooh, how un-Kingly of you.” His husband chuckled.

“I can still hear her laugh…” Thranduil walked around the bed, and continued to run his fingers over its curved, graceful designs. “I am glad Legolas has it. I hope one day, he may return to it. Even so, I am glad it is here.” He took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. There was a feeling of accomplishment; of progress. “I think I might be all right. It will get easier, as time goes on, will it not?”

Bard gathered him into his arms again. “Yes, it will. Tell you what. Let’s come here tomorrow, and you can try this again, to hopefully get used to it. If you need me to stand with you, I will, for as long as it takes, love.” Thranduil kissed his husband, and they just held each other for a while.

Then, he took Bard by the hand, and showed him what used to be Tauriel’s room. The large bed had been removed, and two narrower ones were there in its place, with wardrobes, end tables and a vanity with a large looking glass. “I hope you think this is good enough for the Princesses of Dale.”

“It’s better than my children have ever had in their lives. They’ll love it.”

“I imagine when your Palace is refurbished, your girls will have their own rooms, but since Tilda has recently suffered from shock, I thought they should be together. If you think they would prefer separate rooms, there is a bed in the third room, and Sigrid can have that one.”

“No, you’re right. Tilda has always been near her sister, and she’ll need her, for a good while. I guarantee you, if Sigrid thinks her little sister couldn’t be alone, she would move the furniture around herself.” Bard looked around. “You were very thoughtful, love.”

Then Thranduil showed him the rooms where Hilda would be staying, farther down the hall. It was a smaller apartment, with two rooms and a bath off the living area. There was a fireplace in there, as there was in all the suites. Past the living area, there was a bedroom, where Tauriel’s old bed was placed. In the second, slightly smaller room, Thranduil had a desk and a round table with chairs placed, so Hilda could work and hold meetings.

On the other side of the long hall way, was Thranduil’s large study, adjoining Galion’s, and his main library, which was huge. There was another library on the other side of his Palace, for everyone else’s use, he told Bard, but this one housed all the ancient documents that belonged to the Kingdom, and anything that would be useful for the King. It housed books in just about every language spoken on Middle Earth, while the other, smaller library had books only written in Sindarin or Westron.

“I am very proud of my collection, though I must admit, nothing compares to Elrond’s in Rivendell. Still, when Mithrandir comes, he enjoys spending time in here, and will often bring me new volumes and scrolls he has found. Our scribes have plenty of work, as I prefer that as many things as possible be copied in as many languages as possible. I even have some books on Khuzdul, and Black Speech. There are several on learning Sindarin and writing in Tengwar."

“I’ll need one of these, when we’re ready for it.”

“Indeed, you will. I have several books here, that were copied from Dale’s library. Before Smaug destroyed it, Girion had quite an impressive collection. I have already commissioned the scribes to begin work on replenishing it, when your Castle is finished.”

“That must be costing you a fortune! I can’t allow you to keep paying for all of this, Thranduil. Please, let me cover the costs of that.”

“I wish it to be a gift.”

“Your gift is the survival of my people, until we can stand on our own two feet. Anything over and above that, I will pay for out of what the Dwarves have given us. I have much more than I ever hoped for, anyway. Please.”

Thranduil regarded him. “Very well. I understand. In fact, I think I will allow you to negotiate with the Guild directly, and settle with them. It will be a good experience for you. Things can be stored here, until your Kingdom is ready for them.”

“I can live with that.” Bard smiled at him.

“Let us continue, then, until my meeting.”

They walked own to the entrance of the Royal Wing, into the main Dining Hall. It was stunning, with its inlaid wood floors, done in beautiful, curvy patterns, lovely chandeliers, with several woodland creatures carved in them, mostly deer. There was a large dais at one end, with a long table. “This is where I sit, along with important guests, and my senior staff.”

“It’s a beautiful room, Thranduil.”

“Thank you. I do like it. We have many festivals here in the Woodland Realm, and this floor is excellent for dancing during the winter months. I must confess that I dislike the head table. I rather feel like we are all on exhibit up there.”

Bard laughed at this. “One of the curses of being a King. I’ll know that feeling soon enough, I suppose. I think it must feel like everyone’s waiting for you to drop food in your lap, or get food stuck in your teeth.”

“Exactly.” Thranduil rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking,” the Elf continued, “while the children are here, this hall might be a good place to start them on some schooling. I plan on speaking with Lady Hilda about it, as the instructors here are fluent in Westron, as well as Sindarin. It might help to structure their day, and keep them busy.”

“Excellent! And while the children are busy, maybe the adults could use that time to learn reading and writing as well. The old Master did his best to keep us ignorant, and I hated him for it. This is wonderful idea!”

“The railings on all the walkways should be finished within two weeks” He told Bard, as they left the Dining Hall and went on another walkway to the Royal Throne Room.

“Wow.” Was all Bard could say, as he looked way, way up at the ornate, antlered chair. “That’s…intimidating. That must be great fun, sitting up there and scaring the shit out of people.”

Thranduil laughed at him. “I admit, I do. My father had it built when he first came. At that time, there were many, many more travelers using the road in Greenwood Forest. Many did not have good intentions, and there were robberies, and worse crimes taking place in his realm, which endangered the many villages near there. Some Elves had been murdered, and their _ellyth_ had been raped.”

“That’s horrible! What happened?”

“He doubled the guard along the road, and laid down the law. This throne was built for just the reason you observed. It is meant to be terrifying. King Oropher’s judgment against any who would do harm to his people, was carried out right where you are standing.”

Out of instinct, Bard looked down at his feet, where the inlaid stone floor patterns formed a circle, and he was standing in the center. “Let’s hope I never make you that mad, then.”

Thranduil smiled at his husband and continued.  “Eventually, the reputation of the King of the Woodand Realm, and judgement upon this throne was known far and wide.  It was the stuff of legend, and for a very long time, fear of it was enough to scare off criminals.  Many said it was magical; that it could sense lies, and none could hide from it.”

“I’ll bet your father enjoyed that.” Bard grinned.

“He did. It saved him a lot of work.” Thranduil laughed, but then became serious. “It is never easy, Bard, to mete out punishment. The responsibility can be crushing, even if the sentence is just.  My father did what he needed to, and so do I.  I told you before, if any outsider comes into my Kingdom with ill intentions, they are dealt with severely.  If any of my people are harmed, they will lose their head, right on that spot.

“Things like that weighs on a King.  The crown can get very heavy.  You must consider your judgements carefully, but you must _neve_ r hesitate to do what needs to be done. This is why I wanted very much to see you be King of Dale.  You are fair and strong and just.  No one will suffer needlessly because of weakness. You will keep your people safe.”

It was time to continue with the tour. “Come, let me show you where the families will be taken and the orphans…”

Thranduil showed Bard several adjoining portions of the Palace, that will be set aside for the Dale residents and the orphans. Feren had told him that, just the thought of children running around here for the winter, had many his people jumping at the chance to accommodate them, and readily volunteered to temporarily move out of their homes.

“Hilda and I decided your people might feel more comfortable if they could be kept together, rather than be dispersed, here and there. She wanted the orphans to be together, at least for now, until homes can be found. We want to encourage your people to mingle with mine, so they all will be dining together at mealtime.”

Bard was pleased at the thoughtfulness and kindness of Thranduil’s people. “I still hate the idea of them leaving me, but I feel better knowing where they will be. Especially my kids. Thank you for making sure they are next to you and Hilda. It means a lot.”

“The biggest reason, they must stay near me, Bard, is that your children are now Royalty and heirs of your Kingdom. They need protection here, as well as your own Realm. My wing is easier to secure, with more guards.”

Bard regarded this. “I think you’re right. I don’t like them being set apart, but it is what it is.”

It was time to return to Thranduil’s chambers for a late lunch, before Thranduil had his meeting with his Council. As their lunch was being served, Galion told them that a Feast was being organized in the Main Hall for tomorrow evening, to celebrate their marriage.

“I am afraid we both will be on display, _Meleth nîn_. You more than me, I think.” Thranduil teased. “I do hope you are fully prepared to be interesting.”

“I’ll work on it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them. Shall I get up on the table and dance, or something? Sing perhaps?”

“I would like it very much, if you were to shed your clothing piece by piece while you sing one of your father’s lewd pub songs.” Thranduil deadpanned.

“Good idea.  Ply me with enough of your wine, and I'd do just that, with little encouragement.  Just one problem with your plan, though."

"And what would the problem be?  My people could never accuse you of being boring, and I would find it quite...stimulating."

"If word got back to Hilda, she’d thrash me into the middle of next week.  I’d have to tell her it was your idea, and we'd be holding a funeral for your privates.”

“It might be worth the sacrifice, to see the look on all the faces in the Dining hall, do you not think, _Meleth nîn?”_

“Aye, that it would, but if Hilda -” Bard pointed out to his new husband.

“...cuts off my Elf Thing, there would be no more 'Elf Thing _?'_ ” Thranduil smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Bard lowered his fork. "Tell me you did not just say that," he groaned.

"What?"

"You named your Elf Thing the 'Elf Thing?'"

"And your objection is what, exactly,  _Hervenn nin?"_ Thranduil asked as he speared another piece of chicken and put it onto his mouth.

"That I didn't think of it first," Bard replied, and threw his napkin at him.

 Life was good again, thanks to this beautiful Bowman, with eyes the color of his forest...

 

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Hervenn_ – Husband  
_Nirnaeth Glîr_ – Song of Mourning  
_ellyn_ – Male Elves (pl.)  
_ellyth_ \- Female Elves (pl.)  
_A, ma, Bard. Avo dharo…_ \- Oh, yes, Bard. Don’t stop…  
_A, ma… Ma, ma, ma… Pathro nin, pathro nin_ … – Oh, yes… Yes, yes, yes… Fill me, fill me…

 

NOTES:

More information on the History of the Greenwood can be found here:  http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Oropher

They can also be found in J.R.R. Tolkien's and Christopher Tolkien's book, "Unfinished Tales": [The History of Galadriel and Celeborn](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/The_History_of_Galadriel_and_Celeborn)", and in "Appendix B: The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves"


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The honeymoon continues, and Bard enjoys a relaxing afternoon and a chat with Galion, while Thranduil and Gandalf drop the bomb on his Council about their elopement. Will they understand?
> 
> Then our boys spend a rare, quiet evening in alone, in front of the fire. 
> 
> The next morning, Bard discovers an unexpected side effect from his marriage to an Immortal Elvenking. How will Thranduil react?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to Chapter Twenty-Three. I can't believe its August already. Where has this year gone?
> 
> [bereniceofdale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/pseuds/bereniceofdale) has written a really cute story called [A (Not So) Bad Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825967), which shows how unexpected life and love can be. 
> 
> Speaking of unexpected things, Galion leads poor Bard astray, while playing matchmaker in the fic [Into Hot Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235247) written wonderfully by [SomewhatByronically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhatByronically/pseuds/SomewhatByronically).
> 
> Both of these authors have written several really good stories, and I encourage you to take some time to check them out. You won't be sorry!

 

 

Bard slowly woke up, and saw the fireplace in Thranduil’s chambers. He was napping on one of the couches in the living room and the book he was reading lay open, on his chest. He stretched, luxuriously, enjoying the feel of such comfortable furniture, plus the respite from all the hectic, stressful pressure he had been under for the past couple of months. It was so quiet here…

He missed his children, yes, but he didn’t realize how much he needed a break like this, even if he hadn’t gotten married. Bard was never one to avoid solitude. It calmed him, refreshed him. All those trips up the river, in the sun, listening to the wind through the trees, and hearing the birds… It was the only thing he’ll miss from the old days.

When he returned home, there would be little privacy and a lot more noise, so he was going to make the most of this; to grab onto his Elf and hold tight, right up until they had to separate for the winter.

 _Oh, Valar..._ Two weeks and they all would be gone, and it would be miserable. The thought of it twisted his guts. Visits and letters would help, plus his husband was ' _with'_   him... But, it was still going to be a very cold, lonely winter.

How could be begin to comprehend all that his life will be, now? Thranduil was right. Everything he had ever expected about his life; his future, was different. Living in Dale, becoming its king was only the beginning. How can he get his head around the fact that he will never age, but his children will? He felt different, physically, yes, but also spiritually. It would take him years to fully grasp and understand it…

Since he and Thranduil joined, it was incredible to feel this other presence, his husband. Their minds were not connected – at least he didn’t think so, but he knew when Thranduil was happy, and he knew when he was upset. And the sex…  He’d wracked his brains, trying to come up with words that could fully encompass what it was like, but he simply couldn’t. But still, it was fun to try. 

He was happy. He was just _so_ _happy_. How long had it been, since he felt so content? Since Mattie passed away, it had felt like he was falling down a bottomless pit, trying as hard as he could to climb out of despair and poverty; scrambling for a hand-hold, so he could rest. Before Thranduil, the colors of his life were shades of grey, but now, his vision was filled with bright reds, yellows, blues, greens… it was all so lovely. After such a long bout with loneliness, to have someone who loved him, needed him, would protect him, was…  Again, there were no words.

Bard swallowed. Only now, did he have to courage to look back, and realize the extent of his loneliness and misery. He did find some joy in his children, but telling himself it made up for everything, didn't make it true; it was just something to get him out of bed, no more. If he'd fully grasped his depression while in the midst of it, he doubted he would have been able to go on, even for the children.

He would never tell Thranduil this, but that night, when they looked at the necklace, and he encouraged Thranduil to speak of his wife, it brought back a lot for him, and he relived much of the pain and loss of his own past. It was hard, but he didn’t regret supporting Thranduil as he faced his painful memories - it’s what a loving couple should be willing to do for each other. He needed his Elf to get past things, and Bard bore the sacrifice out of love, and gladly. 

Last night, while Thranduil was at the funeral, he was lying where he was now, and was overcome with sadness, as his stomach lurched. He wasn’t thinking of or reading anything that would upset him, and became confused, until he realized _it_ _was_ _Thranduil_. He was hurting, and Bard could feel it. He had no idea what to do, so he concentrated on feelings of love and compassion and imagined words of comfort and sent it out to him. It might not help, but he felt compelled to try.

He was glad to know that it did help his husband, and this opened new possibilities for Bard. There was no avoiding the fact that he would have to endure frequent separations from his husband; they were Kings, and each needed to be where their people were. It would be decades before Bain could be ready to take over, and he refused to consider leaving his job until then. He had forever, his children did not. He would give his son every chance to live a life without the burdens of Kingship until it was unavoidable.

He had no idea yet how that would be handled, but he wasn’t too worried about it. There was time to sort it all out, and he wanted Bain to help him decide how to go about it. It would be years before he would burden his children with the full knowledge of what marriage to Thranduil entailed, but when the time came, he and Thranduil would would tell them everything. As a family, they would decide whether or not to keep it between them, let it become common knowledge.

Bard got up from the couch, and placed his book on the end table. After using the necessary, he walked through the Royal Apartment, looking at everything, observing the personal touches. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be many. No portraits hung on the walls. There was a small drawing of Legolas in a frame on a table next to the door of Thranduil’s walk-in closet in their bedroom. There was a sketch of a young Legolas on the mantelpiece, next to a drawing of what must have been Tauriel; a little girl with curly hair and pointed ears, which had been done by the same hand. Even if Thranduil hadn’t been openly affectionate with them, here was evidence that he thought of his children fondly. Hopefully, there would be many more loving evidence of their new family very soon.

  
An attractive arrangement of greens and branches decorated the dining table, and a silver tray on the sideboard held several decanters with various beverages, and a set of glass goblets. Everything in the apartment had the feel of trees, vines and leaves, though the walls were stone. He looked up for the sources of light that shone down into the rooms - he couldn’t understand how there could be so much light underground without having holes in the roof overhead, making the rooms vulnerable to weather...

 _Ah._   At several spots on the high ceilings were large mirrors. They must have been placed at careful angles to as to reflect outside light from an opening off to the side somehow… Bard smiled to himself. Genius! No lamp made up for the light of the sun, and this was also a wonderful way to see the light from the moon, as well. The opening must be far enough away to avoid the elements, and not affect the indoor temperature. Maybe this method could be used in his Kingdom to light darkened rooms, especially in Girion’s Palace, and would save on candles and lamp oil…

On the other side of the dining table, was a door, and he went over and opened it, walking out onto a balcony, with carved stone balustrades, wide and flat on the tops, perhaps to set things on, or sit. He looked to either side of the door and he saw large pots, full of soil, ready for flowers in the spring. When he went to the end of the balcony, he looked down at a large, garden, sleeping for the winter months, of course. The trees in it had bare branches, but they were tall, and majestic. He saw several evergreen trees planted there, and shrubs on either side of a winding path made of slabs. Those must be chairs, tables, and benches under those heavy woolen covers, protecting them from the elements. He couldn’t wait to see it in its glory, come summer. He smiled, and went back inside, making sure the door was secure.

Thranduil’s home, the whole Palace was full of wonder and beauty; he would be sad to leave it in two days. It will help to picture his husband walking around his apartments, and envision his children in their beds, lounging on the furniture, or doing various activities, and having dinner with the Thranduil almost every night, like they have been doing since they got together. Bard wanted them all to be a real family.

“Good evening, My Lord.”

“Hello, Galion! How was your day? Are you enjoying being back home?”

“I am. I love my home.” Galion smiled at Bard. “I hope you grow to love these Halls as much as we do. Can I get you something, Lord Bard?”

“Please, Galion, I really prefer it if you would just call me Bard. I would like for us to be friends.”

“Thank you. I would like for us to be friends as well. I have known King Thranduil since birth, and I am very happy for you both.”

“I’m glad he means a great deal to you. He considers you as a second father, and you are family to all of us, now.”

“Yes, he does. I helped raise and educate my King, as well as his children. There is very little about him that I do not know.”

Bard laughed at that. “That’s an interesting notion. I’d love to hear all the stories you could tell about him. I’ll bet he was a real handful when he was a child.”

Galion gave a rueful laugh. “Yes, indeed, he was. His mother and his caretakers had quite the time keeping up with him. He wanted to climb up everything, including his crib. Many times, he would avoid his lessons by disappearing into trees and hiding. He even climbed up some of the sculptures along the walls in the Dining Hall, and frightened us half to death. He had gotten stuck near the top, and he was screaming for help and the Queen nearly fainted when she found him. Had the guards not caught him when he fell, he would have been seriously hurt.” Galion smiled, “It was the only time the King Oropher ever spanked him, and he was sent to bed without his dinner. Then he had to scrub the entire floor of the Dining Hall, just to make sure he learned his lesson.” Galion grinned. “Lord Thranduil had a very strong will, and his parents had to be strict with him.”

Bard laughed heartily. “I can just imagine the howling that went on, when he was over the King’s knee.” Then he asked the Chief Aide, “Was Legolas the same way, when he was young?”

This time, Galion genuinely laughed. “He was worse. His energy seemed boundless. As soon as he learned how to walk, he did his best to avoid it, he only wanted to run at top speed, everywhere he went. He was his father all over again, plus the added energy of his mother.”

“Please, Galion, can you sit a moment?” Indicating a seat on one of the couches. Then taking the opposite one. “Thank you for the book, by the way. Thranduil’s been telling me some stories of the history of Dale, and I find the subject fascinating.”

“You are most welcome,” Galion took a seat. “I can see to it that you have plenty of reading materials over the winter months. I hope it might make the time pass more quickly.”

“I’d like that, thank you. You know your library much better than I, so I’ll trust to your judgement.”

“I shall do my best. May I take the liberty and say to you how grateful I am for helping my King move past his difficulties? I have known Thranduil since his birth and it means a great deal to me to see him learning to hope, again.”

“Believe me, Galion,” Bard said, quietly, “Thranduil has brought just as much hope to my own life. He saved me, in just about every way a person can be saved. I love him, very much.”

Galion smiled at him. Then he said, “I am glad that you chose Thranduil’s fate. You will not have an easy road, but I will help you as much as I am able. I hope you both find much joy with each other.”

“Thank you. I take it you’ll be helping Thranduil and Hilda look after my children this winter?”

“Yes, whenever possible. I look forward to it, although I know you will miss them very much.”

“I’d really appreciate it, if you’d write me, and let me know how everyone is doing, or if you have any questions or problems.”

“Of course, Bard. I would be honored.”

“I’m sure Thranduil has told you, we’ve decided to keep much of what the Valar has gifted us with a secret. It’s too much all at once to grasp; especially for my kids.” He gave a rueful laugh. “It’s almost too much to get my thoughts around. Maybe it’s me who really needs the time.”

“I would not doubt that, Bard. If it helps to speak about it, and Thranduil is not available, I will be here for you both.”

“Thranduil is lucky to have you in his life.”

“As I am fortunate to be in his. I also feel fortunate to be a part of your lives. You have three wonderful children, and they do you credit.”

“Thank you. It wasn’t easy, but Percy and Hilda deserve just as much credit as I do for seeing to them so well. I could not have borne it alone. Galion, I know you did everything possible to help Thranduil when his wife died; please don’t think I doubt that. It may not have seemed like you could do much, but you did, and he knows it. If it weren’t for you, I think he would have faded from the weight of his pain.  You saved Legolas and Tauriel, too, Galion.  Everything I know about you tells me those kids grew up loved and lacked very little, and deserve the credit for that.”

Galion looked down, smiling modestly. “I could say I was just doing my duty, but it would be a lie. I love them dearly. Just as Lady Hilda and Lord Percy love you and your children. It was no hardship or sacrifice; it was a joy.”

Bard smiled, then changed the subject. “How have Percy and Hilda been doing under your instruction?”

“They have been coming along wonderfully. Lady Hilda is especially good at organizing and arranging things, and Lord Percy, I find, excels at the administrative work and an eye for detail.”

He laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. Those two have different temperaments, but they complement each other. Hilda has always preferred being in the thick of things, and Percy prefers to stay quietly on the sidelines, observing. Don’t underestimate him, though. You definitely want him on your side, if there is a fight.”

Galion laughed at that. “That is an excellent description of them. I like them both very much, and their devotion to you and Dale is unmistakable. I am glad you asked me to help them.”

“Are you looking forward to being invaded this winter by my people?”

“I am. I think it will be good for our people in the Palace to have things shaken up a bit. We’ve been stagnant for such a long while. The impression I am receiving from my people is excitement, especially about the children.”

A thought occurred to Bard, “How are you going to feed them all in the winter, Galion?”

“Not to worry. Lady Hilda has gathered several recipes and sent them with me, and I have passed then along to the kitchens. She also recommended that there be a schedule for your ladies to assist our cooks, along with helping to serve and clean up.”

“Excellent. Dale folk would never be happy just sitting around, being guests. It’s never been our way. Keep them as occupied as you can. Most of them need to learn new skills to make a life for themselves in Dale. We were fishermen, mostly, and we need to learn to be farmers, merchants, and many other things.”

“I understand. Perhaps I can arrange for our Guilds to give presentations, and to offer instruction?”

“That’s a good idea. Do you know what plans you have for the children?”

“Not so much plans, but I have some ideas, if I could share them…”

“Absolutely.”

“I believe all the children should spend a great deal of their time here with lessons. I see that they can read and write in Westron, but I would like to suggest they learn Sindarin, as well.  They also must be instructed in deportment, and etiquette, even dancing - all the things that a young Prince and Princesses need to know. Lady Hilda is adamant that they be good ambassadors for Dale. I agree. We’ve devised a curriculum that will hopefully accommodate the demands that will be placed upon them.”

Bard nodded. “Go on.”

“At this point, it is mostly learning the history of Dale, which all of your children need to know.  We have books in the King’s library that records your new country’s history, from its conception on. They need to learn as much as they can about their new country. Their tutoring will need to continue long past the spring, so perhaps someone should be appointed as such."

“Excellent point.” Bard laughed.

“In addition, Bain can continue his instructions in weaponry. He will be training with Daeron, who will be here as their guard, and Thrandiul himself, whenever possible.” Galion hesitated a moment, before he told Bard. “I am afraid your daughters will need to be trained, in self-defense, at the very least."

Bard was taken aback.  “What? I don’t know if they…”

Galion raised his hand to clarify. “My Lord, you must understand. Your children will be the future of Dale, and there will be some who will want to change that, for their own ends. It’s a sad truth about ruling a Kingdom. They will be guarded round the clock for the rest of their lives. Your people that came from Laketown seem to be tolerant, hardworking and honest. But there will be others coming from all over Middle Earth, yes? Guards will be an effective deterrent, but it would be wrong to not give them every advantage to protect themselves.”

The King of Dale sat back on the couch, with his chin in his fingers.  “You’re right. I hate that you’re right, Galion, but there it is. Just be careful: Tilda has just started to come back from a deep shock. I don’t want anything to set back her recovery.”

“We will be gentle. King Thranduil, and Prince Legolas began to learn some defensive moves when they were smaller then Lady Tilda. But, yes, to answer your concern, we will watch her carefully. Her recovery is most important right now.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Bard got up to pour himself some water. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thank you. In fact, I need to go to the kitchens. Thranduil should be back here within the hour.”

Just as Galion was reaching the door of the chambers, Thranduil came in.

“Hello Galion! Keeping my husband company, I see.” Thranduil smiled at the both of them.

“Yes, Sire. Lord Bard and I had a pleasant conversation. Please excuse me, while I make arrangements for your dinner.”  With a bow, he exited, leaving the couple alone.

Bard and Thranduil came together in a warm embrace. “My husband, Mithrandir and I have duly informed my council of my new marital status,” he told Bard, proudly.

“I see no wounds anywhere, and you don’t look angry. I would have felt it, I think…”

“Things went better than I expected. Mithrandir told them of the instructions he received from the Valar, and what had learned about Mattie’s visit to you. That got their attention – as well it should – and then of Mírelen’s petition to the Valar. I then informed them of our feelings for each other, and about our small ceremony and announced that we were wed.”

“Just like that? No explosions? No fireworks even?”

Thranduil smiled down at him, and kissed Bard’s nose. “In truth, it did come as rather a shock. Please keep in mind that these are people who only receive a surprise perhaps once every decade or so, and nothing like this in hundreds of years.”

“Those poor souls…” Bard smirked. “Then what happened?”

“They shared their disappointment at not being involved, but, really, what could they do? If the Valar, and Eru himself wish it, it is out of their hands, is it not? They all came to understand that the blessings we received could only benefit them, and the Realm. But I will tell you what helped them reconcile themselves to us very quickly…”

“What was that?”

“Mithrandir explained to them the choices put before us, and their consequences. Then he told them of your choice to adhere to my fate, waiving the chance of seeing your wife again in the afterlife, so that I could stay, and you could possibly help. They are grateful to you, and admire your courage.”

Bard gaped at his husband. He never thought of his decision as heroic. He just wanted to be with Thranduil, and he couldn’t allow him to abandon his people. Mattie had wanted him to choose this.

Thranduil took his face in his hands and kissed him softly. “Yes, Bard. You _were_ brave, although it may not seem so, now, _Meleth nîn._ But there will come a time, when you will grieve. And I will love you even more for it.”

Bard closed his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “But you will be with me, and I know this is the right path. Since seeing Mattie, the idea of them being with her is very real, to me. That will help a lot.”

“You will bear this grief, but you will never be alone with it. As a Man, you have always known that death is part of life. You will have your grandchildren and future generations to bring you comfort. You will see your legacy go on, as you think of your children, who will be happy with their mother.”

He nodded, eyes still closed. "You know, by that time, you will have loved them just as much as I have. And they will have loved you.”

He felt a kiss on his forehead. “If that is true, then I will truly be honored, _Meleth nîn.”_

 

Once dinner was finished and cleared away, they relaxed on the couch, in front of the fire, with Bard wrapped in Thranduil’s arms, his head against the Elf’s chest. They spoke in whispers about trivial things, just enjoying each other, and the idea of an entire evening without duties to perform, or anyone disturbing them, as they held each other and watched the flames.

“I had a nice chat with your Aide, before dinner.” Bard said. “I think he and I will be good friends.”

“He is a good friend to have. Since my father passed, I look to him for many things. He knew and loved my father so well, that it makes me feel close to _Ada,_ sometimes, when he and I speak of him.”

“I wish I could have met him. Do you take after him?”

“In looks, yes. Many people have told me so.”

“Is he the one who gave you those magnificent eyebrows? I think, next to your lips, they’re my favorite things about your face.”

Thranduil grinned. “Yes, he did. It is funny you should say that; my mother often said the same thing to my father. They were very happy together. I was fortunate to have them for so many years. I look forward to introducing you when we sail West.”

“What was your mother like?”

“She was from Doriath, like my father, and she had dark hair and light grey eyes, like me. She was a well-loved as Queen. Like Mírelen, her special interest was the welfare of the women and children of our Realm.  She also took an interest in the welfare of some of the human villages between the Greenwood and Lothlórien. If there was an attack by either bandits or Orcs, she would either visit herself or send supplies. She persuaded my father to assign guards, when he could spare them, and have them train the villagers in weapons and self-defense.”

“You never told me her name. What was it?”

“Did I not? Her name is Lindorië. Mírelen and I had agreed that, if our child was a girl, we would name her thus, to honor her.”

“That’s beautiful, love. You must miss her.”

“I do, but I know she has found healing and peace in Valinor. Perhaps my father has joined her by now. She sailed West three years after I returned from the War. She ran the Kingdom admirably in our absence, but her grief was such that she could not remain, and as much as she wanted to stay support me. I insisted that she go.” Thranduil sighed.

“I remember you saying something about that. Tell me more about her.”

“She had a pensive, thoughtful nature. My mother, like all Elves, felt things deeply, but she had an extra sensitive nature. She would tell me it was both a gift and a curse.”

Bard sat up, and looked at his Elf. “I see that in you. I think you take after her in that respect.”

Thranduil his head against the back of the couch. “I believe you are right. Galion has always told me so. But I do not think I fully understood it, until recently. I have spent several hours speaking with him, to make sense of all that has happened recently.”

“And, does it help?”

“Yes, I believe so.” He turned his head, smiling. “Much like Percy, when he took you out on the Lake, you and Galion have done this for me. Several nights ago, he told me something that has weighed on my mind, and has helped me understand myself more.”

Bard reached up and stroked Thranduil’s cheek, then run his fingers through long, blonde hair. “And what was that, love?”

“He observed that my father had, what he called an ‘inward nature.’ If he was confused or conflicted about something, he needed time alone, to mull things over. My mother, on the other hand, did things in an ‘outwardly manner,’ I suppose you could say. It was the opposite for her. Things would become entangled in her mind and her heart, like my father, but she solved it by talking it all out, or sometimes writing it out. She often would not even know the root of a problem, or its solution, until she laid it all out in front of her. Only then could she see things clearly, and know what to do.”

“And…you, being your father’s son, tried to emulate him in this way.”

“Yes. And it did not work for me nearly as well.”

“Because, love, it’s just not who you are, is it?”

A small smile, from the Elf. “No, it is not.”

“Does knowing that help you, a little?”

“I believe so. I thought, to be strong, one did not do such things. But the evening Galion and I spoke of it, he made me see that it is never a question of strength or weakness. It is simply a matter of knowing oneself.”

Still stroking Thranduil’s hair, he said, “There is nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Taking Bards hand, and kissing it, he whispered, “No, _Meleth nîn,_ there is not.”

They snuggled in comfortable silence for a while, then Thranduil got up, took Bard by the hand, and, undressing each other, and went to bed.

When they made love, that night, it was gentle, slow, and sweet, yet very satisfying.

 

Bard eyes opened the next morning, snuggled in the soft pillows and blankets. The first thing he saw, was his husband, lying on his stomach, facing him, his arms tucked under his pillow.

Bard stared at the sleeping form with wonder. Thranduil was so beautiful. His nearly-white hair spayed over his shoulders and on the smooth creamy curves of his back, that rose and fell with each breath. His arms were muscular and defined, but not bulky. His long dark lashes fanned out over his cheeks, underneath those gorgeous, full brows that were uniquely his. He loved them. All the other Elves he had met had thinner, arched brows, and they were attractive, but Thranduil’s face stood out, exuding nobility and good character, even if he hadn’t been royalty. The best part was his perfect mouth, open ever so slightly in sleep. He lay there for several minutes, watching his husband sleep, smiling. Who could have thought that this ethereal beauty of a King would love him, want to belong to him? Could he ever not feel amazed at it all?

He hoped not. Waking up every morning and letting the joy of this miracle wash over him, would be the best way to greet every single day of existence.

He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the high, dark ceiling, he was surprised to see several shiny crystals embedded there, sparking in the natural light. He tilted his head slightly, and studied them. There was something familiar about them…

Then he understood. The crystals, varying in size, had been arranged into the same constellations he would see in the night skies of Arda at the height of summer. Many nights Bard would lay on his back, looking at stars during his twice-weekly trips to Mirkwood. He would study them, as the night breeze wafted over him, before the sounds of the water and the forest would gently lull him to sleep.

He heard a stirring beside him, and looked to his left. Thranduil turned on his side, facing him, his arm reaching out for him, eyes closed. Bard shifted over next to him, and pulled the Elf’s warm arm over his chest, and enjoying the feel of their legs tangling together. He loved touching Thranduil, but lying here under the sheets and blankets with him, cocooned like this, was a delight.

He studied the constellations on the ceiling some more. Just as he used to do when outdoors and night, he looked for Netted Stars; large and very bright in the sky. It was the easiest to find both here, and in the clear night sky. When he was a boy, on his father’s fishing boat, this was the first constellation Brand ever showed him. Then he found his favorite grouping of stars. His Da told him some call that one the Lover, but his father always called it the Archer. It looked like someone wielding a bow, and when he was on his barge at night, it was always the one he looked for; thinking of his Da.

Something else occurred to him, just then: He was able to make out every facet of the crystals, even from where he lay. He could see them clearly, he thought, as his brows furrowed. This wasn’t possible. As an archer, he was always thankful for his keen eyesight, but this was different…

The sleepy head of his husband moved onto his shoulder and he felt a kiss on his collarbone. “Have I told you how wonderful it is to wake up with you, _Meleth nîn?”_

“Not today, you haven’t.”

“Haven’t I?” Thranduil whispered, eyes closed. “I love being in your arms, and holding you in mine.” He hugged Bard closer to him, and snuggled his head more into his Bowman’s chest, as he hummed in contentment. They both relaxed together for several minutes, as Thranduil kissed Bard’s neck and shoulder, and held him tighter.

Bard turned his head to kiss Thranduil’s brow. “I am going to hate sleeping alone this winter, love.”

“As am I. I will never again think of this bed as anything but ours. And I will reach for you in the night, and be heartbroken that you aren’t there.” Thranduil sighed, he light grey eyes looking sad. “But I will remind myself that it is temporary.”

“Do you think it will help?”

“I fear not.”

“Me neither.” Bard kissed his hand. “But I’m here now, and you will be coming back with me to Dale, for two weeks. And I’ll visit. We will get through it.”

“We must. And we will.” Thranduil kissed his nose, and settled his head back down on Bard’s shoulder, entwining his fingers on the arm he rested on. “We will spend much time apart, seeing to our people. We cannot change that.”

“I know. But, compared to how long we’ll have together, that’s temporary. I need to get used to thinking of my life the way you do. That’s going to take some adjustment…”

Thranduil chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny, silly Elf?”

“When I had Thorin locked up here, I told him, “A hundred years is a blink of an eye, to an Elf.”

“Is that really true?” Bard asked, curious.

“Perhaps. I only know how time feels for my kind.”

Bard considered this, thinking of what he observed about his eyesight.

“I was looking at your ceiling up there. It’s amazing how they sparkle; I love it.”

“Thank you. I do, as well. It was gift from Mírelen.”

“Really? It’s so beautiful. I was admiring the constellations. My Da taught me some of them when I was a boy on the Lake. This is a wonderful gift.”

Thranduil smiled, and shifted onto his back to look up. “Yes, it is. She had arranged to have it done while we were away, visiting her parents in Rivendell. It was shortly after we were married, and she was learning much about the culture of the Wood-Elves, and how much we revere the stars. All Elves love the stars, but Wood-Elves love it best. It was her way to honor me and our people, and to show me that she cared about them, too.”

Bard smiled; it was a lovely thing for Mírelen to do. “Was it hard to see it after she died?”

“I did not sleep in this room for a very long time."

"Really?"

Thranduil nodded.  "I slept out on one of the couches.  I...could not come in here.  Galion changed the furniture and bedding, but even then, it was a struggle.  Once I became stronger, and in no danger of fading, he insisted I move back in, to get better rest.  I had told him to have the stars removed, but he would not. He promised me the day would come when I would find comfort in them.”

“And did you?”

“Eventually. I have always found comfort and strength from the stars, and I learned to tell myself that this was her way of watching over me while I slept.”

Bard smiled at him. “I’m really glad you can talk about her more. Does it bother you?”

“It still is a difficult, if I am to be honest, but I can feel it getting easier. I imagine it will take some time, but I never want to stop trying. I have to do this, and I want to.”

“It _will_ get easier, I promise. You’ll never quite get over it, so don’t expect that,” Bard warned.

“I will not. I think it is…a matter of getting used to it. I want to do her honor by bringing her memory alive again.”

Bard kissed him. “It’s the best you can hope for, love, and it really will be fine. When Percy would grab me by the collar and take me out on his boat, I'd no idea how much he was doing for me, by insisting that I talk about it.  He was right, keeping my Mattie’s memory alive does her honor, too.”

“Is it strange to be talking so much about our wives? Here we are, newly married, and we have only been together a short while. It occurs to me that perhaps speaking of my wife would make you uncomfortable. Please tell me if it does, _Meleth nîn.”_

Bard looked at his husband, seriously, “Well, let me ask you; do you feel that way, when I talk of Mattie?”

A pause, while the Elf considered. “No, I do not.”

“Exactly. Thranduil, I want to know all about your life, and Mírelen was a big part of it.”  Bard looked into his eyes. “She loved you and your son, so she must have been wonderful.  I want to know about her. If you loved her, then I want to love her, too.” He smiled.

Thranduil’s eyes shone, and he swallowed hard.  He whispered, his breath wavering. “I love you so much, Bard.”

 _“Gi melin, Thranduil._ Always.” And they kissed, slowly and sweetly.

They lay there in quiet contentment for some minutes. Then Bard said, “I think there’s something you should know.”

Thranduil raised his head, “What is it?”

“Remember when Gandalf visited us the night we decided to get married?”

The Elf nodded.

“I had asked him how immortality would affect me? Whether I would gain the strength and speed of Elves, and he said he didn’t know?”

“I remember.”

“I think I have, to some degree. Look up at the ceiling: see how high it is? Can you see every small detail in it?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“So, this is normal to you, then. Of course, you wouldn’t notice. I think I should tell you - I can see the minute details as well. This is not something I’d normally be able to do, and I have excellent eyesight; it's why I’m such a good archer. But, this is different…”

Thranduil sat up, looking down at him, with wide eyes. “Are you saying…”

“I think so. I might be inheriting some of your gifts. Maybe it’s because our _fëas_ are joined, and you’re giving this to me. Or, maybe it’s because, since the Valar is allowing me to be immortal, they’re rewarding me for staying with you. I honestly don’t know.”

The Elvenking grinned gleefully and jumped on him, straddling him and holding his hands above his head. “That’s wonderful, Bard!” He grinned, showing Bard his favorite smile. Then he laughed, and gleefully exclaimed between kisses. “This is such a wonderful surprise!”

Bard laughed with him. “I know. I don’t know what it all means, though. Maybe we should go find Gandalf and ask about it.”

“Yes! We absolutely should! This is amazing…” Thranduil flopped back down and stared at the ceiling again. “You can really see all this? What will Mithrandir say when we tell him, do you think?”

Bard started to giggle, and couldn’t stop.

“What are you laughing at, _Meleth nîn?”_ Thranduil turned back on his side, propping his head up.

“You, you silly Elf! Look at you! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were positively giddy!” Bard was grinning from ear to ear. “When I think on how you were, when you first came to Dale, I would’ve never pictured this, in a thousand years!"

Thranduil stopped and looked at him, raising one eyebrow.   _“Giddy?_ I am giddy, you say?’

“I do. And you wear it very well, love. I see nothing of that haughty, arrogant Elf, riding into Dale that day." Bard laughed outright. "You were so cute when you made that snooty-face." He booped his Elf's nose

His husband narrowed his eyes, indignant. “You dare to call me, Thranduil, son of Oropher, Dragonslayer, and King of the Woodland Realm, a _Snooty-Face?”_

“Absolutely. I, Bard, son of Brand, Archer Extraordinaire, Dragonslayer, and King of Dale, do hereby call you the _snootiest_ of Snooty-Faces!”  And he stuck out his tongue and blew him raspberry. “There. My official proclamation.”

Thranduil grabbed Bard, and began to tickle him. Soon they were rolling around on the bed, laughing, and trying to wrestle each other down, tickling each other. Turns out, Bard soon had the advantage, when he discovered that the Elf was even more ticklish than he was…

 

***************

 

Galion, having finished most of his early morning tasks, made his way to the King’s chambers, with their breakfast. He had decided to give them as much privacy and free time as possible, before they had to return to Dale. There were a few arguments with some of the Council, and other members of staff, but he had laid down the law: Under _no_ circumstance were the King and his new husband to be disturbed. The King’s schedule had been cleared of all appointments, meetings, and visitors. The newlyweds were to be left alone, free to do as they pleased.

It was his wedding gift to them.

Now it was mid-morning, and Galion was carrying a tray with fruit, several kinds of sweetbreads, butter and hot tea. When he reached the door of the chambers, the guards opened the door to the main area, and, once he stepped in, he heard a kind of muffled, banging noise. He stopped and wondered just how loud Thranduil and Bard could be together…

No, it didn’t sound like… _that._  Besides, he heard loud laughter, which would not be in keeping with the type of noises a couple would make during sex.

He set the tray down on the dining table, furrowing his brow, and noticed that the door to Thranduil’s bedchamber was slightly open. Curious as to what the noise was, he tiptoed over to see what the ruckus was all about…

Then he smiled, and softly made his way back to the main doors, checking to see if the silencing spell was still in place. As he stepped through the doorways, past the guards, he could hear nothing. _Ah, perfect..._

Reiterating to the guards that the Royal couple were not to be disturbed, and to allow none but himself to pass, he grinned widely as he entered his study to start work for the day. Sitting down at his desk, he began to laugh at the ridiculousness of what he saw in the King’s bedchamber, when he peeked in…

There, on that great bed, Bard and Thranduil were holding hands, nude and full of fun and laughter…

 _…_ and jumping up and down on the bed _._


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard spend another wonderful day in each other's arms. Later, the new Consort was introduced to Thranduil's Council members, before they proceeded to the Feast, where the food was plentiful, and the wine flowed freely...
> 
> ...a little too freely, as it turned out.
> 
> Thranduil learns to cope with his memories a bit better, as he tells his new husband the story of Legolas's birth. And Bard learns just how intense "the Elf Thing" can get!

 

 

Thranduil and Bard had a wonderful day together. He had originally planned to show Bard the rest of the Palace, but Bard asked him if they could just stay where they were.

“I love it here, alone with you,” Bard kissed his hand, and rubbed his thumb into Thranduil’s palm. “I want this to be _our_ time, where we won’t need to think about pleasing anyone but ourselves. I hope you’re not disappointed, love. I just don’t want to share you with anyone yet.” There will be time enough to meet others at the Feast tonight, and Bard could always see the rest of the Palace on a subsequent visit.

Thranduil looked down at the wedding ring on Bard’s hand, and kissed it. “No, _Meleth nîn._ I am not disappointed. You make me happy.”

He got up and brought the tray with the breakfast food, and they sat in bed and fed each other. Then they took a long warm soak in the bathing pool, both discovering the delights of lovemaking surrounded by warm water, and each other. Then they washed each other with leisurely caresses and languid kisses. The skin on their fingers was wrinkled when they finally emerged from the bath, and they dried and combed each other’s hair, before climbing back into the great bed, to cuddle and share their thoughts, and learn more about each other’s lives.

It wasn’t long before their touches became urgent, and they explored diverse ways they could please each other. The most recent was with Bard on his hands and knees, biting and screaming into his pillow, while Thranduil worked his tongue over and into his entrance, while two fingers inside of him were stroking his sweet spot, until he came all over the sheets, untouched. Thranduil followed soon after, his hand stroking himself, feeling the power of Bard’s orgasm within him.

Their moments of completion fed off each other, increasing the pleasure to impossible heights, often bringing tears to their eyes from the sheer intensity. He knew Bard had never known anything like it, and he found joy in watching Bard discover the wonder of what he liked to call “the Elf Thing.” He wanted to see that look of pure bliss on his husband’s face as many times as he could, for the rest of their days.

 _These have been some of the best days of my life,_ he thought to himself that afternoon, as he watched his Bowman nap. The tired and careworn look had completely vanished from Bard’s face during these last two and a half days, and it made him even more beautiful to the Elvenking. His brow had become smooth and the lines only showed in his face when he smiled and laughed. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could stay this way?

Smiling at his husband’s sleeping face, Thranduil drifted off, too, holding Bard’s hand to his chest.

All too soon, it was time to get up, and go and meet the Council, then proceed to the Feast.

“Come, _Meleth nîn,_ I have a surprise for you.” He pulled Bard toward the closet.

“What? Please tell me you aren’t going to dress me in one of those robes… Thranduil, they’re just not me.”

“You are correct. You would never look as good in them as I do.” He smirked at his husband, “However, you might like what is in there.”

“All right, as long as there’s nothing shiny or flamboyant. You can carry that off. I’d look ridiculous.”

Thranduil showed him a section of his vast wardrobe, which had been set aside for his new husband, where an entire wardrobe had been made for him: Four tunics for every day and three for formal occasions, and six pair of calfskin leggings, three in black, one in dark blue, and two in different shades of brown.

There was fur-lined cloak for winter, some underclothes and two new pair of boots. All these, he was to take back to Dale with him. The tailors of the Greenwood have Bard’s measurements, so, by next spring, this section of the closet will be filled with another complete wardrobe.

“I must be pretty important, for you to give me space in your closet!” his husband teased.

“You are welcome, _Meleth nîn,_ but please, this is no longer just my closet; it is _ours._  There is more. Let me show you.”

He led Bard to the vanity table and mirror, and gave him a new silver brush and comb set. They were plainer than Thranduil’s to suit Bard’s taste, along with a razor, with a strap to sharpen it, with soap and brush, to shave, should he like to.

Bard was touched. “Thanks, love, this is wonderful.” He looked at the formal tunic that Thranduil held out for him. “Just the way I like it, with only a little decoration on the collar and sleeves. I like the color, too.”

“I chose the fabric myself. I think it matches your eyes even more than the robe I gave you. This green is the color of the leaves of my favorite tree.”

“Is that the tree you broke your leg in when you were a child?”

Thranduil smiled. “The very one. Here put these leggings on.” He handed Bard the dark brown ones.

  
Bard sat down on one of the stools and put on the underclothes and stockings, and tried on the outfit. “It feels like it fits nicely.” He went before the looking glass to see. “I like this. Thanks so much, love.”

“Let me see. Turn around for me… Yes, it does. I like it very much. Now, sit here, and we shall attempt to tame all that wild hair.” He stood behind Bard and brushed and combed out his long hair, then he carefully pulled the front hair back into a fishtail braid, and tied it with a thin length of leather. “There. You are ready to be on display and stared at, _Hervenn nîn._

Bard snickered. I’ve only ever been on display at the banquets in Erebor. Will it be like that?”

“Not at all. You will find the Elves have much better table manners.” He smiled at his husband and kissed him. Looking into Bard’s eyes, he sighed. “I wish we could stay here longer.” Thranduil looked wistfully at their joined hands, watching their new wedding rings sparkle in the light. “They are so beautiful, aren’t they?”

Bard kissed Thranduil’s ring. “They are. But not as beautiful as the Elf I married.” Bard stroked Thranduil’s cheek with his thumb.

“I have loved this time here with you more than I can say, _Meleth nîn._ It has been perfect.”

“It has been wonderful, love. I feel like we are returning to the world, and I'm not sure I want to.  As anxious as I am to see the children again, I wish we had more time.” Bard’s smile turned serious. “Please promise me something, Thranduil. Promise we will always make time for just us. We are Kings, of two different peoples and places, and I’m afraid of getting so caught up in it, that we neglect each other.”

Thranduil hummed his agreement. "I understand your fears well. I have been a King much longer then you have, and I know how easy it can be to become too caught up in duty.”

“How did you handle it? I mean, there’s so much… It keeps me up at night, sometimes. What did you and your wife do, when things got too burdensome?”

“Mírelen was very wise about such matters. She declared these private chambers as just that--private. We had to leave our worries, and work at door of this apartment, whenever possible. She also encouraged me to go for a walk in the gardens when the workday was done, if I needed to let go of a frustrating day.   In our bedchamber, her rule was Absolute. ' In this room,' she would say, 'we are only a husband and wife, not a King and Queen.'"  

“That sounds perfect. I’ll need something like that to help me keep balanced, even when I’m alone. Otherwise, I’ll drown in all of it.”

“You are correct. You _will_ drown if you are not very careful, and it will benefit no one. You must remember, there will _always_ be more to do. There will _always_ be important matters that need your attention. Please, Bard, learn the art of stopping when the day is done. Your family needs time with you, and,” he smiled at his Bard, “your husband needs attention, as well.”

“Mírelen was a smart lady.”

“She was.” Thranduil sighed and smiled. “Now, I need to dress. We are to meet the Council, soon.”

Galion was waiting at the door, and the three of them made their way to the Council chambers. It was a beautiful room, with a large, highly polished wooden table. The inlays and carvings matched the table that sat in Thranduil’s temporary quarters in Dale.

Galion announced them, and the members stood up and bowed and curtsied to the two Kings. Bard returned the courtesy with a low bow, as Thranduil introduced each member of his Council. They all sat, and shared some wine, while they congratulated Bard on his marriage, and expressed their appreciation to him for his choice to stay with Thranduil as an Immortal.

The Elvenking watched all this interaction closely. The Council had accepted his marriage when he met with them before, but he wanted to make sure it was sincere. He would not allow his husband to be treated with anything less than the respect due him. Bard seemed to be at ease; answering their questions about his intentions for Dale, as well as expressing his thanks for all the aide provided his people. Thranduil was relieved to see a cautious, yet genuine respect, which was exactly what he hoped for.

Soon enough, they all rose and made their way to the east in the Main Dining Hall, and were seated at the head table. Thranduil rose, and held up his goblet and toasted the Valar, as was custom, then, in Sindarin as well as Westron, formally introduced his new husband to his subjects. He asked Bard to stand, and as he did, everyone at the feast stood bowed their heads and saluted the new King Consort of the Woodland Realm. Bard gave a perfect Elven salute back to them – he had been practicing - and thanked them for welcoming him.

The dinner was delicious; roast beef, with boiled potatoes with butter and herbs, with steaming vegetables. For dessert was a wonderful apple cake. The wine flowed freely, as well. Thranduil made sure that Bard was served the less potent of his wines, so he could enjoy himself, and keep his wits. Out of consideration for Bard, those at the head table spoke only in Westron, and the Elvenking’s husband enjoyed getting to know his Council members.

When they were finished with their meal, Thranduil and Bard went around to all the tables, meeting the Elves and chatting with them. They all seemed happy for the newly married couple. Those who spoke Westron were very polite, as they introduced themselves and told Bard of their occupation. Thranduil interpreted for those who spoke in Sindarin, as they, too extended their best wishes. Many expressed their eagerness and excitement at hosting his people over the winter – especially the children. Bard was grateful to hear it, and told them so.

“Come, _Meleth nîn,_ there are some Elves in particular I want you to meet.” He took Bard’s hand and led him over to a group of _ellyth_  and _ellyn_ at the table near the far right. “Bard, King of Dale, I would like to introduce you to Taenya, the head of our Tailor’s Guild, here in the Woodland Realm, she personally fashioned your all your clothing.”

Bard kissed her hand and thanked her for his new wardrobe, complementing her on their excellence. “We’ve never met, yet everything you have made for me fits perfectly! You are a wonder, My Lady.” Taenya, blushed and thanked him.  
Thranduil guided him to another Elf sitting at the round table. “I would also like to introduce to Glélindë, Taenya’s first assistant. It was she who repaired our Tilda’s doll.”

Bard was overjoyed to meet this _elleth._ He bowed to her and kissed her hand enthusiastically. “You’re Feren’s wife! He told me it was you who had done all that work on her, and I was hoping to meet you. My Tilda was overjoyed to get her doll back, and I wish I could tell you how much that means to have my little girl smile again.” Feren’s wife was very attractive, with long auburn hair and grey eyes. When she smiled, she had a dimple on one of her cheeks. It wasn’t hard to see why Feren loved her. Glélindë’s dimple was definitely present, as Bard described the scene of Tilda opening the box, and looking at all the clothes.

“It was our pleasure, Lord Bard. We had heard of your small daughter’s difficulties, and wanted to help.” Taenya said. “The other Guild members surprised Glélindë and myself with the little clothes and shoes to include in the box. I am very glad she enjoyed it.”

“Please extend my sincere appreciation to everyone in your Guild, for what you’ve been doing for my people.”

Thranduil added. “It was very thoughtful of your Guild to make those extra efforts. You have my thanks, as well.”

Thranduil introduced Bard to the members of all the Guilds of the Woodland Realm: Elvensmiths that fashion the weaponry, the Cooks, Scholars and Scribes, Woodworkers, and the Equerries.

He also made a special point to introduce Bard to the Agricultural Guild, whose members will be spending time in Dale this Winter to introduce and instruct his people in farming.

The evening was a grand success, just as Thranduil had been hoping it would be. Bard’s affable personality seemed to win over his Council, and his people did not disappoint.

Soon enough, the feast was over, after many, many toasts and congratulations had been made and drank to, and they were making their way back to the Royal Wing for their last night of their trip. They would be leaving for Dale tomorrow, after the midday meal.

“Did you have a good evening, _Meleth nîn?”_ They had made their way to the Royal Wing, and were walking down the long hallway, with Thranduil’s arm around Bard’s shoulders, gently guiding his steps.

Bard answered with boisterous enthusiasm, punctuated with wide arm movements. “I DID! I had a grand ol’ time. Your people are a right merrrry bunch! Verrry soshable… Not one snooty-face in the whooole bunsch…”

Thranduil laughed. “I am glad you think so. They seem to like you very much.” He kissed Bard’s hair. “Almost as much as I do. Did you eat enough?”

“Oh, I’m stuffed! The food was great. So was aaalllll the wine! I drank a lot of that too…” He grinned up at Thranduil happily. “Don’t look at me like that! I had to! There were soooooo many toasts, and I had to be polite, didn’t I?” Bard stumbled. “Whoops! You aren’t gonna carry me, are you?”

“I wouldn’t mind. You are no burden. I may have to, as you are leaning rather heavily against me. Did you limit yourself to the wine I gave you?”

“NnnnOPE!” Bard popped his ‘p’ loudly, and giggled at himself. “I had the GOOD stuff! _Lots and lots_ of the good stuff!” Bard grinned and swung his arms wide again, smacking Thranduil in the chest.

After not a little maneuvering, they finally came to the doors of the King’s chambers. The two guards saluted, then one of the guards opened the door for them. Bard stopped and asked the guards for their names, while Thranduil, with an amused face, did his best to keep him standing.

“My name is Ivran, My Lord Bard.” And the Elf bowed his head, politely. “It is my great honor to protect My King and his Consort.”

“Well, I thank yoo, Very muchly.” Bard said, as seriously as he was able. He wobbled, as he turned and pointed to the second guard. “And who might yoo be?” he asked, as he weaved to and fro.

The brown-haired _ellon_ saluted him. “My name is Ruvyn, Lord Bard. I, too, am honored. And may I offer you both my congratulations on your marriage.”

“Yessch, you can! I got married! We’re married, aren’t we?” Bard looked to his husband for confirmation. “I did marry you!” Bard turning back to the guards, tried to explain to them, “I made an honest Elf out of him!” then he came closer to Ruvyn, “Shhhhhh! Don’t tell anybody! It’s a secret!”

Ruvyn somehow managed to keep a professional demeanor, as the fumes from Bard’s breath threatened to knock him over. The poor guard looked to his King for help, and after receiving a nod, he replied, “You have my solemn vow, My Lord. Your secret is safe with us.”

“Thank you. You’re a good friend.” Bard turned to Thranduil, and began pawing at his hair. “Your hair is sooo… You’re soooo purty…isn’t he purty?” He stuck his finger in Thranduil’s chest. “You. Are. Sooooooo. Purty.” he told Thranduil in a sing-song voice, swaying.

He then punctuated the statement with a loud, long belch. “OOOOPS!” Bard put his hand over his mouth and giggled.

Thranduil shook his head, and smiled indulgently at his drunken husband. “I thank you.” To the guards, he said. “I think I shall put my husband to bed now. Good night.” He turned Bard away from them, and led him inside.

Once in the apartment, Bard slipped out of Thranduil’s grip and stuck his head back in the doorway. “Oh!  I forgot to tell yooo!"  He sang. "I did NOT get him PREGNANT!”

Thranduil rolled his eyes, muttering _“Oh, Valar…”_ before grabbing hold of Bard’s arm and yanking him back inside.

“Have a pleasant evening, My Lord, King Bard,” the guards bowed politely and managed to keep straight faces. The second the door was shut, however, Ivran grabbed his middle, and bent over, with helpless guffaws. Ruvyn sputtered, laughed, and had to turn and lean on the wall, so he wouldn’t fall on the floor.  It took a full fifteen minutes before they could compose themselves. This had been, by far, the most entertaining shift either guard had ever worked in the Royal Wing. They would laugh about this one for years to come.

Thranduil managed to walk Bard into the bedchamber, sat him down, and removed his boots. “Come, _Hervenn nîn;_  we need to get you out of these clothes, and get you into bed.”

Bard, still smiling, obediently lifted his leg, so Thranduil could pull them off, then helped him remove his tunic, leggings and his underclothes.

“Do you need to use the necessary, Bard?”

“Nnnnope! I’m all set, love. Yep, Yep, Yep, I’m good…” Bard was still sing-songing, grinning like mad.

Not grinning. _Leering._ Thranduil looked at him in slight alarm, eyebrows raised.

“What are you looking at?”

“You, you, youyouyou… sexy Elf…” Bard pointed at his husband. Then his brows furrowed. Whatcha wearin’ clothes for? Wanna see you naked…” Then the Bowman grinned and patted the bed beside him.

Thranduil rolled his eyes, again. _Oh, Valar…_ “Bard, I am going to get the pitcher of water. Here, get into bed.” He pulled back the covers and hauled Bard up, settled him into a sitting position against the headboard. His husband was getting sleepier and sillier by the minute. “Just how much did you drink, _Meleth nîn?”_

“Welllllll, when yoo were over talkin’ to some of your Horsey people, the Smithies made sure my cup was full to the brim…. They were reel friendly-like, and weeee toasted everything we could think of!” Bard started to wave his arms, but thought better of it, as he almost flopped over on his side. He looked at Thranduil and shrugged. “What could I do? I must be a good repese- no, that’s not right… A good repesent… _Shit!_ What’s the word?”

“Representative?”

“YES! THAT’S IT! I have to be a good - what you said - of my country to your folk, and show them…. _Oh, fuck..._ I forgot what I was gonna say…”

Thranduil shook his head, smiling, and went out and got the pitcher of water and some cups. Putting them on the table beside Bard, he made him drink a full glass, then he asked once again, “Are you _sure_ you don’t need to use the necessary? You will need help getting there and back.  Perhaps I should take you..."

Bard mustered as much dignity as he could, in his inebriated state. “I am quite shure. I’m old enough to know when I have to pee or not, and I don’t have to. I’m a King!” he stuck his finger in Thranduil’s face. “And Kings don’t need to be told when to pee!”

Thranduil started to giggle, then bent down and kissed Bard’s brow. “Just let me put your clothes away, and then I’ll be back.   _I_ need to use the necessary, even if you do not.”

Bard made a rather pathetic attempt at wiggling his eyebrows. “Whenya gonna get naked, love?” Bard leered again, his gaze moving in a meaningful way up and down Thranduil’s body.

“What?”

“What, What?” Bard slurred. “Can’t I look at my pretty hubby with his long, long, long, long hair? And his long, long, longlong legs? And his longlonglong co –“

“I promise you: looking at me is all you will manage this night. Now, let me take care of some things, and I will be back.”

Bard blew him a sloppy-looking kiss, (which sounded more like a raspberry), and sang, “Hurry, love. I’ll be waiting...”

The Elvenking took care of his personal business, then put Bard’s clothing back on the hangers. The leggings anyway. It looked like Bard spilled some wine on his tunic, so he put it in the basket to be laundered. After putting the boots away, he shed his clothes and put on his black robe, before he walked back over to the bed…

…where he found Bard sprawled sideways across the bed, face down in the mattress, with his hands and feet hanging over each side.

“Bard! How did you manage that?”

“I missed you.” A muffled voice said into the mattress. “Was lookin’ for yoo. Where’d ya go?”

“I told you. I had to take care of our clothes. Now, turn over before you suffocate. Let us get you back where you belong.”

Thranduil rolled him over and finally managed to maneuver him back into the proper position, with Bard mumbling unintelligible words, and weakly grabbing at his robe.

After Thranduil turned down the lamps, he took off his robe, and crawled into bed beside his drunken husband...

...who was still pawing at him.  “But, but, but, I wanna fuck you…”

“You may fuck me tomorrow, _Meleth nîn.”_ Thranduil kept batting his hands away. “I promise. Try to get to sleep.”

Well…but… What if you fuck _me,_ then? You could…dontcha wanna?” Bard was still handsy, and managed to find his husband’s groin with surprisingly little trouble.

“Stars, Bard! It is like you grew four more arms!” Thranduil chuckled. “I am not the sort of Elf to take advantage of the state you are in. Now, go to sleep before I put a _losta-luith_ on you.”

“Whassat?”

“A sleeping-spell, remember?”

“You wudddnn’t!”

“I would, and I am sorely tempted to.” He tried to slap Bard’s hands away, yet again. The man was determined. “Behave yourself, and get to sleep. Here; cuddle against me.” He turned Bard away from him, and pulled him against his chest. Then he started to rub his hands soothingly over his arm, and his chest. “Just relax, _Meleth nîn._ That is it.” He continued to stroke Bard’s arm, and spoke in low, soothing tones. “Relax, Bard. Go to sleep.” Finally, he heard even, deep breathing.

“I do not envy the headache you will have in the morning.” He whispered to Bard, as he kissed his temple gently. Then he settled himself, with this face nestled comfortably in the back of Bard’s neck….

Thranduil relaxed and closed his eyes, smiling. _Life with this man will never be dull,_ he thought, as he drifted off. He had only been asleep for a few minutes, when he felt Bard stir.

“Thranduil?” Bard mumbled.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I gotta pee…”

 

***************

 

Bard loudly snorted, startling himself awake, with a jerk. _Aaaagh! Ulmo’s balls, my head hurts!_ He was lying spread-eagled on his back, and carefully opened one eye just a tiny bit. _Ow ow ow ow OW OW OW! Oh, shit… what the fiddler’s fuck happened to my head?_

He covered his face with his pillow, to shield his aching eyeballs from the light in the room, and groaned loudly. Bad mistake. The noise ricocheted back and forth inside his skull, echoing painfully.

What in the world happened to him?

He tried to think. _No. Don’t think. No thinking. Too hard, right now..._ He carefully rolled onto his stomach, trying to manage it without moving his head at all. Didn’t work. Another moan escaped his lips, and the noise stabbed the inside of his head. Then he moaned from the pain of his moan. _Oh, bloody fuck…_

Torture. That’s what this was. Somebody was trying to torture him. It was the only explanation. He scrunched his eyes shut and buried his head.

 _Shit._ He had to use the necessary…

Slowly, oh, so slowly he sat up, eyes still scrunched tightly. It didn’t help. Hot needles stabbed his head, and he could feel the air in the room slamming hard into his eyelids, trying to get inside and cause even more pain. He tried grabbing his head to hold it steady. _Oh, thank the Valar, yes…that seemed to help a bit…_

“Bard?”

“Shh! Don’t scream…” Bard whispered, wincing.

“I am not screaming at you, _Meleth nîn.”_ Thranduil’s voice sounded highly amused, but he did lower the volume quite a bit.

“Oh, bloody fuck. My head…” He grabbed his head. “I’ve gotta go…”

“All right, here. Let me help you.”

Thranduil helped him stand up, and took him past the bathing room, to the necessary. All the while, Bard’s head felt like an anvil that someone was using to shape a piece of metal -  _Bam, bam, bam, bam…_ It was his own heartbeat, cruelly betraying him by slamming loudly inside his head… _I’m dying;_   _I'm actually dying..._

Bard's stomach turned over. _Oh, shit…_

He barely made it to the basin, before he vomited. And he still had to pee. And the vomiting made his head pound even harder, which made it hurt more, which made his stomach churn, and _Oh, Valar Valar Valar...please help don't let me die..._  He held on to sides of the basin, and groaned, starting the cycle of pain and nausea all over again.

“Are you all right in there, Bard?”

“Nnnnghaaa,” was all he could manage, until he was done being sick.

“Do you need help?”

“No,” he croaked. “Don’t yell.”

“I am terribly sorry.  I will go to the sitting room…”

“No!” he jerked his head up, quickly. “OW!” He grabbed his head again. “Just…just… wait there, please…”

He somehow managed to get done what he needed to get done, and made it to the door, where his husband was waiting, with a smug smile. Bard was not amused to see his husband enjoying his agony. He tried to make a face at him, but all he managed was a grotesque sort of pull on one of his cheeks.

“You look terrible, _Meleth nîn._ Perhaps some breakfast might help. I shall have Galion prepare us some soft, poached eggs, nice and runny, bread with lots of butter and cheese…”

Bard clapped his hands over his mouth and dove back into the small room, slamming the door. Which nearly killed his head. Again.

“That was just mean, and I'll never forgive you. I married a mean, cruel Elf.” He said when he crawled out of the room again.

“I am sorry, Bard. I will stop. Here, let me help you.” He put his arm around Bard and led him back to the bed, and sat him up against the pillows. “Here,” he handed him a cup. “Drink it all.”

Bard took a sip, and shuddered, violently. Which made the stabbing pains in his head much worse. _“BLECH!_  " he yelled, and shuddered. _"OW!_  ” he grabbed his head with one hand and his stomach with another. “What are you trying to do, kill me? That stuff’s disgusting! What is it?”

“An Elven hangover remedy. The more you drink, the faster it will work. Here.”

Bard looked at him skeptically, then took another drink, shuddering. _“Aah!”_ Bard grabbed his temples again. “What did you put in that shit?”

“Oh, I am afraid I cannot tell you that. I have been sworn to secrecy. Now, drink some more.”

Bard managed a couple of more sips, before he handed the cup back to Thranduil. “I’ll throw up again, if I have to drink that stuff.” He moaned. “Can’t do it. Just let me lie here quietly, so I can pray to the Valar for death…”

Thranduil considered him for several moments, with a raised eyebrow, then sat on the bed, facing him. “Hold still.”

He held his hand to Bard’s brow, and started chanting. Then there was the glow about the Elf, which traveled to Bard, and he began to feel better. Bard’s head stopped pounding and his stomach settled.

“Oh, thank you, Ulmo and all the Valar…” He flopped back on the bed, eyes closed, babbling. _“Oh, yes yes yes…_ that feels better… Thanks, love. That’s so much better…”

“You are welcome.” Thranduil kissed his brow and got up. He nearly made it to the door, when Bard opened his eyes, and sat up like a shot.

“Hey!”

Thranduil turned, his face the very picture of wide-eyed innocence. “Yes?”

“You could've done that in the first place, you bastard! Instead you tried force that…that… _swill_ down my gullet! Why didn’t you do the spell first?” Bard threw a pillow at him.

“Bard, what is it with you and pillows? You are continually throwing them at me, or hitting me with them.” Thranduil dissembled, smirking.

“ _Yo_ _u_ didn’t answer my question!”

Thranduil sighed, his arms akimbo. “Very well. I did it to teach you a lesson. Or perhaps exact revenge. I haven’t decided, yet. Possibly both.” He arched his brow at Bard.

“What for? What did I do to deserve that?”

Thranduil strutted toward the bed. “The next time you are offered copious amounts of Dorwinian wine, you will use caution, will you not? That was the lesson.”

“All right fine. I’ll nurse my drinks, then. And the revenge?”

“The next time you are inebriated, and you need the necessary, you will either aim much more carefully, or you will clean up your mess yourself.” He smirked and threw Bard’s pillow back at him, fast as an arrow, hitting him dead in the face. “I’ll see you at breakfast once you’re dressed.” And he turned and left the bedchamber.

After Bard took care of his personal busines (and cleaned up the  mess), he joined his husband for their morning meal. Contrary to Thranduil’s threats, there were no runny, soft eggs. There were hard boiled eggs, and ham, with cheese, fruit juice and lots of strong tea. As they ate, they laughed and joked and teased each other.

And Thranduil stubbornly refused to tell Bard what was in that awful drink, but he did share the story behind it.

It was the same recipe Galion used on him in his youth.  Feren had dared Thranduil to sneak into the wine cellars, and steal some of his father's Dorwinian.  Then the two young Elves took it behind one of the barns and drank it all.  After their fathers finally found them, passed out, surrounded by empty bottles, King Oropher asked Galion to give them the "hangover remedy."  It actually did nothing, except make them sicker, but they learned their lesson.  Years later, Galion had told Thranduil this "remedy" had been administered to King Oropher himself in his wayward youth (to Galion, too, although he hated to admit it).

Their last morning was spent wandering around the Palace at a leisurely pace. Bard wanted to see more of the wings where his people would stay, and check out the construction of the railings, and other adjustments they were working on.

Then they went outside, to the barns, where Thranduil kept his horses, and a young elk, whose rack was a fraction of the size of the one Bard had seen before.

“This is the offspring of my Elk that was killed.” He patted the young bull’s neck. “It will be years before he will be ready to ride. I have others in the other barns, but he is a favorite.” Thranduil sighed. “I loved his father very much, and I will miss him.”

“I saw you with him, during the battle, Thranduil.  It was magic, the way you two worked together.” Bard told him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Frankly, I hope I never do again, considering the danger we were facing, but he loved and protected you as much as he could. It was obvious.”

“He did, and I him. His name was _Bara-Maethor_ , which means ‘Fiery Warrior’ in my language. I believe this young one has the same fiery spirit, and will grow to be even stronger than his father.” The young Elk nudged Thranduil’s arm, trying to get into his pockets.

Bard watched, fascinated, as Thranduil began to speak to the animal in Elvish, and the elk held his gaze, as if he completely understood what the Elvenking was saying. Then Thranduil took an apple out of his pocket and gave it to him, petting his neck as he enjoyed the treat.

“Do you actually talk to the animals, like you do the trees?” He asked Thranduil as they were walking back to the Palace. “I could swear you and that bull elk were having a conversation.”

“I suppose you could call it that. I will say that any horse or elk that is Elven will never throw its rider, or allow him to fall off. We enjoy a wonderful relationship with the animals in the forest, and the ones that we have in the Palace.”

“I remember you telling me that the Palace had cats. Tauriel liked them especially.”

“Yes, we do. They keep our halls clear of mice. We enjoy them.”

“Do you have dogs? I haven’t seen any.  At least, not yet.”

“You have not seen much of the Palace, so that would not surprise me. We use them for hunting, and many keep them as pets.”

“We used to have one, but she died about three years ago, and I could never afford to buy another one. The kids adored her, and she looked after them like they were her own. Her name was Megan, and she protected my children as much as Hilda or I did. Did Legolas or Tauriel have a dog?”

“Legolas had several when he was younger. Even with our Elven magic, cats and dogs do not live very long in our time, but we still enjoy them. Tauriel preferred cats.”

“What about you? Didn’t you have pets?”

“No. I did not have time, and I was so busy. Or, at least that was the excuse I used. Mírelen had several, and perhaps having one reminded me too much of her, I do not know. In any case, my life will be split a great deal, between these halls and Dale now, and I do not think it fair to have a pet, with Galion and I gone so much.” He smiled at Bard.

They reached the Royal Wing, and sought out Galion, who gave them an update as far as the packing and loading of the caravan. The new Captain of the Guard had reported that the road between the Palace and Dale were clear of spiders, and heavily patrolled, to prevent Orc attacks. The additional guard over the vulnerable of Dale was added guarantee.

Before they returned to the King’s chambers, Bard took Thranduil by the hand and went in to the children’s apartment, again. Just as he did yesterday, and the day before, Thranduil spent some time in Legolas’s chamber, and faced his memories triggered by seeing the bedframe from Rivendell. This time, he even sat down on the bed, while Bard sat with him, rubbing his arm, and asking more questions about Mírelen, urging him to speak of her.

“Tell me about when Legolas was born. He was born in this bed, wasn’t he?”

Thranduil was slightly taken aback. “Yes. He was.” He smiled a little. “That is a nice thing to think of when I look at this.”

“It is, love. Tell me about it.”

“Mírelen was twelve months along, and Legolas was due any day…”

“Twelve months? Is that normal for Elves?” Bard whistled. “By the time Mattie was nine months along she was sick of being pregnant, and huge. But twelve months? Poor thing.”

Thranduil smiled. “Yes, Elves carry their young for twelve months, and I can tell you those last days were very trying for both of us. She was grumpy, then she would burst into tears at the strangest things… Once she yelled at me because I put my dirty clothing in the hamper the wrong way. Then she cried because she yelled. And she would want to eat unusual things, especially in the middle of the night. She was very tired of it, towards the end, and, no matter how hard she tried, she could not put her own shoes on, and needed help dressing, which she did not like at all.

“Oh, I know what that’s about. Mattie was ready to spit nails, she was so sick of it by then. She was constantly moaning about not seeing her own feet and never comfortable enough to sit, stand or sleep, either.”

“Yes, that happened, as well. It seemed that Legolas was sleeping all day inside of his _Naneth,_ and at night, when she would try to rest, he would begin his antics: rolling and kicking my poor wife in the ribs. I would try to speak with him to get him to settle down, but he would not listen to his _Ada.”_

Bard laughed ruefully. “Babies never do what they're told. They like to run things, don’t they?”

Thranduil nodded, smiling, with a fond, faraway look on his face. “Shortly before he was born, I came into our chambers to find our closet and drawers emptied, and our clothing all over the floor. She was frantic, wanting to reorganize it.”

“Ah. The midwife and Hilda called that ‘nesting.’ Elves do it too, apparently. I’ll bet that was a sight to see.”

The Elvenking laughed. “It was! I did not know what to say, or to do, because she had been so irritable lately, I was afraid to upset her. Then she became angry with me because I did not say anything!”

“Did she get everything put away?”

“No, she did not. Once she got everything out of the closet and drawers, she sat on the chair and started to cry. I couldn’t calm her down, and became concerned, and sent for the midwife. I was afraid something was wrong, but she told me it was what you had said about your Mattie - the 'nesting' -  and it meant that the baby would come soon. We put her to bed, and I rubbed her back until she fell asleep, then the Healer sent for some handmaidens to clean up the mess. Legolas was born two days later.”

“Were you there when he was born?”

“I tried to be. She yelled at me when I touched her, then she yelled at me when I wasn’t touching her. Then she called me filthy names for getting her into that condition in the first place.” Thranduil smiled to himself, and shook his head. “I was shocked, not only by her cursing, but that she even knew those words. She did not remember this, later.” He looked at Bard. “Did your Mattie use foul language?”

“I wouldn’t know. Hilda always kicked me out, saying it was 'Women’s Business.',

"Perhaps, Hilda has the right idea."  Thranduil laughed.  "I did not fare so well, either."

“What do you mean? Did the midwife kick you out, too?”

“Not...exactly. She called for Galion to come get me.”

“Why was that?”

Thranduil looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You will laugh."

“You mean…” Bard gasped, “you didn’t, did you?”

Thranduil looked sheepish and nodded.

“ _You did!_   You fainted!” Bard snickered. At Thranduil’s sour look, he controlled himself. “All right. I’m sorry.” He jabbed Thranduil with his elbow.  “Don’t feel too bad. I suppose that’s why Hilda would never let me around.  I’d have been worse, I promise you.  You've heard how I am at the sight of blood - can you imagine what would happen if I were there?"

Thranduil laughed, then shook his head.  "I still do not understand it.” He marveled. “I have never been squeamish; I am a warrior and have seen blood. I have seen countless animals be born, as well. When  _Bara-Maethor_ was born, I assisted with his delivery, because he was a breech, and I suffered no ill effects. But when Mirelen strained with a strong contraction and cried out, everything went black, and I woke up in my study, and Galion was wiping my face with a cold cloth”

“That’s because it’s different when it’s someone you love. My kids aren’t exaggerating about me being squeamish. I can’t tolerate any of them bleeding.” Bard then said, softly, “So, Legolas was born in this very bed. Tell me about it.”

“Galion and I stayed in my study across the hall, and I paced the floor for hours. It seemed longer than that, because I could hear my wife... I think I crushed poor Galion’s hand at one point, because every time she cried out, and I could hardly stand it.  But then, he was born, and I shall never forget the first time I heard my son cry.”

Thranduil’s face looked serene, as he remembered. “I embraced Galion very tightly, crying, with relief and happiness. He was crying, too.  I wanted to go to her immediately, but Galion assured me I needed to wait, until they were ready.  After a short while, the midwife sent for us, and we went in to see them…”

“On this very bed.”

“Yes. Right here.” He patted the mattress and looked at the bed frame. “Yes... They were here, and they were bathed and clean, and Mírelen’s hair was braided down one shoulder and tied up in a blue ribbon. Blue was her favorite color; did I tell you that? She was in her nightgown that matched the ribbon, and in her arms, wrapped in a white blanket was the tiniest Elf I had ever seen.”

“I’ll bet he was beautiful.”

“Oh, he was, Bard. He was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I shall never forget it. I was astounded at how small he was, and his hair looked like spun gold. He had been sleeping, then he opened his eyes and looked at me…  I remember thinking how his eyes matched the blue of the ribbon in his mother's hair.  I saved that ribbon, you know; I never wanted to forget that moment, so I put it in a box and keep it in my closet.  I have not looked at it in a very long time, but it is a treasured possession...” Thranduil was lost in his memories for a moment or two. He turned to Bard and kissed him, holding his face. “Thank you, _Meleth nîn_."

"Nothing compares to seeing your child for the first time, love.  Even when I held Tilda, the pain of losing my wife didn't stop me from falling in love with her, just like Sigrid and Bain.  In some ways it was more, because Tilda was the last link to Mattie.  There's nothing like it."  Bard rubbed his nose against Thranduil.  "And now, we'll make more memories to add to them."

"Some day, we will have grandchildren to fall in love with, _Meleth nin."_

 _"_ I look forward to it."

They got up, holding hands, and Thranduil led him into the bedchamber. He pulled Bard’s tunic over his head, and began to undo his laces. Soon, they both were free of clothing, and plundering each other’s mouths, as they fell onto the bed and began to caress each other, moaning softly. Bard took the oil and watched Thranduil’s face as he fingered him, rubbing and massaging his insides, watching the pleasure on his husband’s face, as he babbled in Elvish, and his breathing turned into panting.

“I love you, Bard," the Elvenking gasped, as he closed his eyes and groaned.

Bard kissed him, hard, and Thranduil met his mouth with equal force, as Bard curled his fingers, stroking with just the right pressure to bring out wonderful cries of pleasure from his husband.

With a low, feral grunt, Thranduil grabbed Bard and flipped him onto his back, straddling him. He grabbed the oil and slicked Bard’s cock, then using his hand, guided it to his entrance, and slowly lowered himself down, eyes closed, moaning as he went, until he was fully seated on Bard.

“You are a beautiful sight, you know that?” Bard breathed, as Thranduil adjusted to him. “I can’t believe you’re all mine. I love you so much.” He ran his hands over the Elf’s chest, and teased his nipples.

“You are perfect Bard. It is I who is blessed to have you.” Thranduil kissed him thoroughly, then sat up and began to move. This was a new position, and it felt amazing to both of them. Thranduil tried out different movements, smiling as they found what pleased them most. In the end, Thranduil was slamming himself up and down on Bard, head back, mouth open with deep, breathy moans. Bard took the oil, and slicked Thranduil’s cock, and worked him in time with the Elf’s strokes.

Thranduil pulled Bard up and held him close as he continued to move, reveling in his husband’s cries, as they both reached the edge of bliss.

He saw that Bard was just as close as he was, and their eyes watered as they reached their orgasm at the exact same moment. Thranduil closed his eyes threw his head back and screamed, as Bard exploded inside him and he pulsed around him, and came all over their bellies.

This was the one of the most intense orgasms Thranduil had ever had, and it was almost too much. He grasped and clawed at Bard desperately and roared in ecstasy, and he could feel Bard’s fingernails dig into his back mercilessly. He looked down and saw Bard’s face, his mouth open, not even able to breathe; it was so much to take in. He gathered Bard to him and buried his face in dark hair and reveled in the explosive sensations.  

It was _magical_.  There could be no other word to describe it.  Never had this happened to him, and it was almost as intense as their joining.  He saw stars, yes, but these were full of light and color; it truly was almost too much, but he would never, ever forget it.

Finally, the joy ebbed somewhat and he sighed as he slowed his movements. He leaned down to kiss his beloved Bowman, then looked into his eyes. Bard had begun to breathe again, but his face had gone a bit pale.

“Bard? Are you all right?”

Before he could answer, Bard’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, then closed.

“Bard!” He lay his husband down, quickly, then stroked his brow. “Bard? Please answer me!”

After a few moments, Bard inhaled deeply, and blew out his breath slowly. “I’m sorry...” he said weakly. “I think... I just sort of…blacked out for a second…”

By now, Thranduil was able to get off his husband, and he quickly put some pillows underneath his feet. He stroked Bard’s face, for a minute or two, until the Bowman laughed ruefully.

“I’ll never joke about ‘mind-blowing’ sex again, as long as I live…” He grinned, closing his eyes again. “That was…”

“’Mind-blowing?’” Thranduil quipped.

“Shut up, you.” Bard gave him a look.

“Seriously, Bard, are you all right?”

“Aye, I am. I’m just…” Bard took a deep breath, then laughed. “Holy shit, Thranduil! That was so intense!” Bard rubbed his hand over his face.  "It was like our wedding night, almost."

“I was thinking the same.  Was it too much?”

“Bite your tongue, Elf. You will never be too much for me.” Bard smiled into Thranduil’s face, and tugging at his hair. “It was a wonderful way to end our honeymoon, wasn’t it?”  He closed his eyes and took some more deep breaths. "We should... I don't know... _name_ it, or something!"

”But you did.”

”What?”

”Did you not call it ’The Elf Thing?’”

Bard chuckled.  “Works for me.”

Thranduil laughed, kissed his cheek, then rubbed their noses together. “I love you, Bard.”

 _“Gi melin, Thranduil._ More and more, every day."

They still had two hours before they needed to get ready to leave, so they spent it lying in bed, with whispers, warm and loving caresses, and a delightful tangle of limbs.

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _hervenn nîn_ \- my husband

 _Meleth nîn_ \- my love

 _Losta-Luith -_ sleeping spell


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the journey back to Dale, Bard learns some of the lore of Middle Earth, and a bit about Thranduil's forest. 
> 
> Then, a loud clamor can be heard from Dale in the distance; are they in trouble?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> [You - Keaton Henson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173908) is a moving tragic story of how Bard helps Thranduil face the inevitable. It's written by [ArrianaLaufeyson,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriannaLaufeyson/pseuds/AriannaLaufeyson) who did a great job. [It was real](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200393), written by the talented [oscareilderobbieross"](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarwilderobbieross/pseuds/oscarwilderobbieross) is another one, you might enjoy.
> 
> Have fun with Chapter 25!

 

 

The journey to Dale was blessedly free of incident, thanks to the protection of Thranduil’s troops and the Guard monitoring them in the trees. Bard rode alongside Thranduil, eager to see his children again, but feeling sad that their wedding trip was over. Their lives would soon be busy again, often going in different directions, as each worked to see to their people. Four days didn’t seem like any time at all, after he discovered just what joys and pleasures could be had with his new husband.

He looked over, studying Thranduil. He was straight and proud in his saddle, his horse attuned to his master beautifully, only needing minimal movements and signals. When they came to a clearing along the road, the sun shone brightly, and, despite the cold, Thranduil raised his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of its rays on his face. Bard smiled. That Elf will never realize just how beautiful he was.

Thranduil lowered his face and looked over at him. He saw Bard staring at him, and smiled back, his magnificent eyebrows slightly furrowed with curiosity.

“What do you stare at, _Hervenn nîn?"_

“You. I enjoy seeing you with the sun on your face.” Bard grinned.

“I enjoy feeling it. Do you know the story of the sun, _Meleth nîn?”_

“No, I don’t. Is it interesting?”

“I think so. The sun was actually made from a single piece of fruit from one of the Two Trees that Yavanna and Nienna created. The Trees were said to be indescribably beautiful; one shining a silver light, and one with gold. Laurelin was the name of the second, golden tree. They shone in Valinor for thousands of years, but, sadly, Melkor sought to destroy them, with Ungoliant the spider’s help. He did destroy them, but Yavanna and Nienna were able to produce a single piece of fruit from Laurelin, before she died.

“To keep this fruit of golden fire safe, Aulë and his people made a ship, and they chose a Maia maiden named Arien, to sail the vessel into the sky, out of Melkor’s reach forever. As she sailed, Middle Earth saw its very first dawn. The other tree that had been destroyed was name Telperion, and a single piece of its fruit had also been saved. A Maia named Tilion was given the task of taking the silver fruit into the sky thus giving Middle Earth its Moon.

Arien’s pace across the sky is always steady, but Tilion’s journey with the Moon, is more impetuous, trying to get close to Arien, and that is why sometimes you see the sun and the moon in the sky at the same time, and also why the moon can be closer to us and farther away. Melkor hated the light, and has tried to destroy them, but they are safely out his reach forever.

Bard smiled. “I like this story. Do you have a name for this Sun, that came from the fruit of the Tree?”

“Yes. Her name is Anor. We Elves have a devotion to the stars, as well as all living things, but we honor Anor and the life she gives to our forest. The trees sing a beautiful song when she shines on a clear, bright day.”

“So, you weren’t just enjoying the warmth of the sun, then; you were listening to the trees, too?”

Thranduil smiled serenely. “Yes. They give me life and peace.”

“I’m sorry so much of your forest is sick, love. It must hurt to hear that. How can you stand it?”

His husband sighed. “It is very difficult, even to think about. My Kingdom used to be so vast and full of life, until the sickness came. My father and I had to abandon much of it, and move North to keep my people safe. I had no choice; but it still felt cruel.” Thranduil’s face became solemn. “I had to be strong for my people, and the forest that I can still protect. In order to do that I had to turn my back on the trees that couldn’t be saved. Even Radagast can do nothing to stop the sickness, not even with he and Mithrandir working together.”

“That must have been awful.” Bard sympathized.

“I always hope for a day when my land will be restored, and the forest will be a happy place once more, but it could not happen for some time to come. I foresee little will change until our final War with Sauron.”

“I know you said the trees are your friends. If you don’t mind my asking, can anything be done to help them?”

“I am thankful to say there is. My father summoned Radagast and Mithrandir, when the forest began to get sick, and begged them to help in some way. It was for our self-preservation, as well, Bard. To constantly listen to their pain and their misery was enough to drive an Elf mad; even more so with the Silvan Elves! The decay was sapping our own strength. After trying several things, Radagast finally suggested that the sick trees be put to sleep. It would not hurt them in any way, but it would spare them the years of torment. He spent much time with a unit of my Guard, traveling throughout Mirkwood.”

Thranduil smiled at Bard when he said the name. “Yes, I know I despise that name, but when one spends enough time in those parts of the forest and see the despair, it is easy to see why my cousin Celeborn called it so. I did not appreciate it, but the name stuck. He has since apologized, and promised me, when the time is at hand, that he and his wife will help to clear this land of this evil.”

“I suppose one can’t expect better than that. Everyone makes mistakes. At least he wants to make it right.”

Thranduil still looked disgusted, but continued with the tale. “Radagast spent many months putting the sick trees to sleep.  The relief was enormous for us; the sick trees weren’t suffering, and we could focus on the still-healthy forest and gain strength from it. When the Wizard returned, he was very weak from all his efforts, and spent many months with us, to recover his strength. He is ever a friend to my Kingdom, and to me.”

“What if more trees get sick?”

“I trust that Radagast will attend to them.  Radagast lives south of us, and he keeps watch over this forest, and its wildlife. He has always spent his time thus, concerning himself with the living things of Middle Earth. He and Beorn, the Skin Changer are also great friends, and they often work together. Radagast is acquainted with his entire family.”

“Wait… I was told that Beorn was the last Skin Changer on Middle Earth.”

“Ah. Well, as a King, you are to be trusted with this secret, which can be shared with no one. He is not the last, but, because of the danger to him, when Azog and his minions were alive, he hid his family away, so that they would not be enslaved. No one knows where they are, save Mithrandir, Radagast, and Beorn himself. When the time is right, he will be reunited with them. It was the only way to ensure his race.”

“That must be agony, to be separated from your family like that, with no word.” Bard was shocked and saddened for the gentle giant he had met. “Before I came to Dale, Beorn was just a story my Mam told me as a child! I was amazed to learn so many legends and are all true!"

“It is small compensation, for all the death and destruction, we witnessed that day.”

“It is. Nevertheless, I’m here now, and things are how they are. My Da taught me never to play the ‘what if’ game with myself. He called it ‘should-ing’ all over yourself.”

Thranduil laughed loudly at this. “I think I would have enjoyed your Da’s company very much.”

“I loved him dearly. I still miss him. Maybe he’s with Mattie and my mother, and they’re all looking after each other.”

“That is very possible. I am sure they will be looking forward to meeting your children again, when it is their time.” Thranduil tilted his head to his husband.

“Well, my mother never met my children. She died of a fever when I was eleven, and Da only knew Sigrid before he passed. But he adored her. There were times when she'd get colicky; especially when she'd be cutting her teeth, and she would only let her Grandad hold her.” He smiled. “I'd bang on his door in the middle of the night, frantic, because Sigrid was screaming and wouldn’t stop. Then he'd show up, pick her up and she'd instantly be sweet again, and Da would accuse us of making it up.”

“Children enjoy making liars of us, do they not?”

Bard laughed. “That they do. Da wasn’t mad, really. He loved being a Grandad.  He had a collection of old keys on a ring, to jangle them in front of her; it was her favorite toy.  After he died, I found them amongst his things, and I set it aside for Sigrid, along with some jewelry of my mother’s, for both the girls. They were hardly worth anything, but they were priceless to me.”

“You lost them in the fire?”

Bard sighed. “Aye. I don’t know what kind of shape my house is in, or if it’s even there anymore. That night, I broke out of my jail cell, ran to the armory and then the bell tower, and from there to the Lakeshore.  It’s probably all gone.”

“I am sorry.”

“Me, too.” Then Bard took a deep breath, “No more ‘what-ifs’ right? It’s a beautiful day, though a bit cold, we survived, and here we are.  Compared to that, trinkets mean little."  He shook his head.  "I don’t need things to keep my parents alive in my heart.”

Thranduil looked at Bard thoughtfully. “I am amazed at you, _Meleth nîn.”_

“Oh, and why is that?”

“I am old - many would say ancient - yet you, in your short life, have more wisdom than I do, in these matters, and I am glad of it.” Thranduil moved his stallion closer, and looked over into his eyes. “You teach me much, just as I teach you. Do not ever doubt we are an equal partnership, Bard. You bring me as much as I hope to bring you, and I am grateful.” He smiled at Bard. “I do love you.”

 _“Gi melin, Thranduil.”_ He told Thranduil, with a loving smile.

Soon, the party came to the edge of the forest, and past the boundaries of Thranduil’s Kingdom. After almost another hour, they could see Dale. Bard’s heart quickened. He was excited to see his children, and wanted very much to know how his people had fared in his absence. He had only been a King for seven weeks, but he felt the weight and passion his people and this land, as if he'd done so all his life. As they grew closer, the ruins of Dale came into focus. It was disheartening, but he tried to keep the future of Dale in mind. Thranduil gifted him with beautiful, detailed sketches of the city at its finest, and they helped to keep his vision of the future clear.

As they came closer to the gates of the city, he smiled at Thranduil, who returned it, knowing his feelings. “It will be a beautiful place, once again, Bard. You are a fine King and your people will be happy here,” the Elf told him. “I am proud to be the Consort of Dale.”

Thranduil’s words filled him with pride, hope and love. So much had happened, since those Dwarves appeared on the river and asked him for a ride. Much, was lost, yes. But so much has been gained, too. With the pain, came a hope he had never dreamed for himself, or his people. The Valar truly did try to make events work for the good of Middle Earth. He hoped he could live up to their trust in him. Mostly, he was thankful – he would forever be thankful – for the gift of the tall, blonde, indescribably beautiful husband.

As the gates of Dale grew near, he could hear a clamor of noise. People were shouting. He looked at Thranduil, concerned. Was something happening?

“Why do they make noise, Bard? Is Dale being attacked?”

“I don’t know, but we’d better find out!” Bard nudged his horse into a run, and Thranduil gave the command for the troops to follow them. The wagon, carrying supplies was left behind with an escort, while the rest ran ahead, hearts pounding in their chests.

_No, no, no…. My children… My people… Please…_

“Come on!” He nudged his horse even faster, and his white stallion flew over the ground. Thranduil rode with beside him with equal speed. The Elven soldiers, and Galion kept up the pace, as well. All had concerned, determined looks on their faces, swords drawn, bows at the ready.

As they approached the gates of Dale, they opened, and the shouting got even louder, as Bard and company ran through them, and pulled their horses to a stop, trying to prepare himself for the worst….

They were cheering. His people were waving and cheering for them, lining up on either side of the road into the city, and they were celebrating his and his new husband’s return.

He stopped, stunned, his frown turning to surprised grin. He looked at his husband, who was doing the same thing. Everyone quickly sheathed their swords or put their bows away, and Thranduil’s troops very neatly fell behind the King of Dale and his new Consort, in pairs. As the procession slowly made its way into the city, the people continued to cheer, the women waved their handkerchiefs.

Bard’s throat became very tight, and had to swallow a few times. He was just a Bargeman, a Bowman. This, for him? It didn’t seem real. He felt very loved, and it threatened to overwhelm him.

Thranduil must have seen his face, because he moved his black stallion closer to Bard and took his hand briefly, squeezing it. “They have always loved you, Bard. You were their King before any title was bestowed upon you. You deserve this, and I am very proud of you.” Then he kissed Bard’s hand, causing the crown to cheer even louder.

Finding his voice again, “It’s not just my people here, love. Look!” And yes, there was Thranduil’s Army, lining up behind the people of Laketown, in full armor, saluting their own King and cheering their own congratulations upon his marriage as well. Thranduil was giving everyone that smile that Bard so loved, his white teeth, gleaming in the sun, along with his beautiful hair.

Soon, he saw his family, over to the left. Hilda, Percy and the children, were closest to Thranduil, standing next to Tauriel and Feren, who saluted them formally, while carrying a very small girl with curly blond hair on his hip. After his salute, he smiled to the other little blonde that Tauriel was carrying. Thranduil smiled down at his Commander and waved to the little girls who smiled and giggled. Bard was so pleased. Perhaps Feren had spoken more to Hilda about little Alis and Dafina. Things looked hopeful.

“Da! Thrandool!” He would know Tilda’s voice anywhere, and he looked past Thranduil, and waved to his children. Letting go of Percy’s hand, Tilda ran into the street toward Thranduil. Sigrid yelled after her, but the Elvenking nodded at Sigrid, then reached down and picked Tilda up and set her in front of him, whispering into her ear. She giggled, then started very regally waving to the crowds, just as Thranduil was showing her, looking up at him, asking if she was doing it right. Bard’s husband, of course told her yes, so she continued.

They continued their parade until they went past the Camps, and into the city. Bard could see a real difference in the streets, just since they’ve been gone. The crowds led them all to the Courtyard, in front of the Great Hall, and Bard saw that the large doors had been repaired. Stopping, he and the company got off of their horses, and walked up the steps to the Hall, in front of the doors, as the crowd gathered, and the horses were led away. He and Thranduil, who was carrying Tilda, turned to face the crowds, looking for their family. Soon, they were joined on the stairs by Tauriel, Feren, with Alis, Dafina and Galion alongside Thranduil, with Hilda, Percy and Bard’s older children by Bard’s side. After everyone gave and received hugs, Bard raised his hands to ask for quiet.

With Bard speaking in Westron, and Thranduil translating in Sindarin, Bard expressed their sincere thanks for the welcome, and told them he was proud of all the work they had accomplished while he was away. As long as they were all together, he spoke of the preparations that were being made in Thranduil’s kingdom to host the women, children and the vulnerable for the winter.

“The caravans will leave in twelve days. I hate the idea of separating for the winter, but our priority is to protect Dale, and that means keeping our children warm and healthy.  I promise you, after next spring, we will never be divided again!” At the last words, his people cheered loudly, which made Bard feel a bit better. Bard heard a few individual shouts of support from the crowd, promising to do what needed to be done.

“I thank you, good people of Dale. I’m honored by the welcome received by my husband and myself. It was quite the surprise!” They all laughed at that, then applauded and cheered. Then there were several shouts of “Kiss him already!” He and Thranduil turned toward each other. Thranduil, grinning, took Bard’s face in his hands, and gave him a quick and chaste kiss, to many hoots and catcalls.

 

***************

 

Red-faced, Bard looked at Thranduil when they were done kissing in front of their people. Bard looked so happy, and his beautiful hazel eyes were shining. Thranduil couldn’t help but stroke the back of his head, and lean in to kiss him again. He and Bard hadn’t wanted any kind of pomp or ceremony, but it was a nice feeling to revel in well-wishes of their people. He underestimated the joy it would bring. Yet another wonderful surprise this Bowman brought into his life.

Behind them, the doors to the Great Hall opened. Bard and Thranduil turned to see Hilda, Percy and the children urging them inside. Tauriel and Feren left to return the little ones and help get the other children back to their tent.

He and Bard looked around at the Hall, and saw that there had been much work done on it. He looked up when Bard asked Percy about the roof repairs, and was told they had been made with the Elves’ help – they were more nimble and surefooted – and slate tile had been brought from Erebor make it water and weatherproof. While the Elves were working on the roof, repairs were being made to the interior, and beyond.

The Hall itself was actually one wing of Girion’s castle, as originally designed by Goran the Founder, but not completed in his lifetime. Thranduil took great delight in walking with Bard and telling him what he remembered of this building, and its history. Like Bard, Goran made sure his people had safe and secure housing first. At the same time, the high wall around the city was being constructed. Then, the buildings in the town and the marketplace were built, to get Dale’s economy up and running.

Only when the city was in full swing and prosperous, did he assign efforts to complete the castle beyond the necessary living and meeting quarters. First came the towers and the ramparts, and then, finally this Hall was begun. Alas, shortly after it began, Goran was killed when his horse shied from something while running on the road towards the Woodland Realm. He had been thrown from the horse and killed instantly. His son, Tîrevan the Archer, finished the work to his father’s exact specifications.

As they walked throughout the large room with its carved pillars, Thranduil told Bard all of this along with his memories of the Kings who had supervised its construction. Elves had helped to design and build the castle – it was before the Dwarves had come to the Lonely Mountain. He showed Bard some carvings along the beams that had been added later, indicated the different industries and crafts made in Dale at that time. Bard had never noticed them before, and found them fascinating. Thranduil enjoyed walking him around, pointing out detail of the hall he might find interesting, and sharing its history. Bard’s face reflected wonder and excitement, looking at Thranduil like he was being given a gift.

“Please, Meleth nîn, remember, it is not I bestowed this upon you; Dale has always been yours. As I told you, the moment you walked into this city with your people, you became a King.” He smiled at Bard, who was becoming emotional.

“I just… Sometimes, it hits me that this is all real. I wish I could explain it better,” Bard told him, with his eyes threatening to overflow. “You’re wrong, you know.” His voice wavering, “You did give all this to me. It was you, just as much as my ancestry. Even more so, I think.”

“Why do you say that?” He asked Bard. “I speak the truth. Dale was destined to be yours at birth, my husband.”

Bard stepped closer to him, and put his hand on his chest. “Would you have sought me out and helped me, if you thought I wasn’t worthy to lead these people? Suppose you thought me a criminal of some sort?”

“You _were_ a criminal, Bard." He smirked.  "You were a smuggler, were you not?”

“You know what I mean. If I was a sniveling liar like Alfrid, or even remotely like the Master, what would you have done?”

Thranduil studied Bard for a moment. He was right: he wouldn’t have lifted a finger. He might have even ousted him, for the good of the people, until a suitable leader could be found. “I see your point, _Meleth_ _nîn_. And you are right, I would not have helped you. But, to quote your father, let us not play at 'what ifs.'"  He squeezed Bard’s hand. “I am happy for you, Bard. I can think of no one in all of Middle Earth who is more deserving.”

They stood and smiled at each other, until Hilda had enough, and came over to them, hands on hips, “Are you two ogling each other? There’s more you need to see."  She crooked her finger and told them to follow her.

“Galion and I decided to do this the minute you two got together. Percy helped a lot, too - he came across this when he was checking the Great Hall, and we decided it was perfect.  As soon as word of your wedding got around, everyone wanted to help get this set up.” She walked to the back of the Hall, through the doorway, into the passage beyond.

To their right was a hall with several rooms.  "We've set up the infirmary down at that end.  That all behind the kitchens, so the heat from the ovens and such will help keep the rooms warm for the sick.  Some of the older men have been set up, here, too; they're big enough to hold four beds, and the fireplaces keep the chill from their bones." 

To the left, was the entrance of another wide corridor, with several doors that opened up to rooms on either side, and a wide set of double-doors at the end of it.  

"Now, eventually these all will house the Castle servants and staff.  Our rooms will all be on the second floor, but these will do for us nicely, until the builders finish with the Castle.”

“Hilda! You and Percy should have been working on the –“

“Oh, hush! You’re a King, and it’s about damned time move out of your tents and into a real home with your new husband."  Bard opened his mouth to protest, but Hilda put her finger in his face.  "Don’t you argue with me!” she told him firmly.

Bard looked to Thranduil for support, which he didn’t get, as the Elf was trying not to laugh. “You put me in charge of the castle, didn’t you? Well then, I'm in charge of the Castle, and this is what you've got."

The Kings followed her down the long hall into their bedroom, and opened the doors.

"Surprise!" The children, shouted and clapped. Tauriel and Galion stood behind them, grinning.

"Come and see!" Tilda grabbed their hands and pulled and pulled them into the room. 

 Thranduil’s big bed had been set up, along the back wall off to the left, along with his side tables.  Galion must have arranged for a load of furniture, because to the left of the bed by the window, was a wardrobe and a tall dresser to hold Bard’s things, and Thranduil's own wardrobe and trunks were set up on the wall opposite the bed.  To their right, Thranduil’s chairs had been placed in front of a large fireplace, and his rugs were strewn on the stone floor. Lamps were lit, and there were many touches to make it as homey as possible. It was rustic, but comfortable, and it suited his Bard perfectly.  There was a door past the fireplace for the privy, and his commode chair was there, along with his bathtub and washstand.

He went to the Seneschal, bowed very formally, and kissed her hand. “I thank you, Lady Hilda. What a wonderful wedding gift you have given to Bard and me. We are in your debt.”

Hilda had the grace to curtsy and say, “You are very welcome, Lord Thranduil.” Then gave Bard a kiss on the cheek. “Come, we’ll show you the rest.” There was a room for the girls, next to that one for Bain, and Feren's study/bedchamber. On the North side, were Galion's and Tauriel's rooms, along with one for Hilda and Percy. Every bedroom had proper beds, wardrobes, dressers and such.  There were small privies and bathing rooms on both the North and South sides of the Hall, as well.

At the end, near the entrance, offices had been set up on opposite side for Bard and Thranduil, with chests, meeting tables and chairs.

"Old Ben and his men made sure all the fireplaces work, too, so there's no need to worry on that score." Hilda told them.  "Percy's going to try and set him up in your study after you leave, Thranduil, so he can lay out his drawings and blueprints."

"That is a sound idea.  His work is most important, so he may use it now, if he needs to.”

"I'll tell him. He's got a room yonder, but I think he'll move his bed in there, later."

Bard nodded.  "Sounds good to me.  I'm all for it."  He wrapped his arms around Hilda and twirled her around in gratitude. “Hil, I know what I said, but this is just wonderful!” He kissed her blushing cheeks. “You are a true gem! I was wondering what we were going to do after we got back, but you’ve outdone yourself!”

He then turned to Galion, “You helped make all this possible, and I thank you. You’re a treasure.” Bard have the Chief Aide a perfect Elven salute.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Bard. Lady Hilda designed all of this; I merely supplied what she asked for.” Galion graciously

Thranduil turned to the children, “I am very happy at your thoughtfulness, as well. You helped with this, did you not?” All three of them grinning madly, nodded their heads. Sigrid came gave him a huge hug, and he kissed the top of her head. Then Tilda wanted to be picked up, which he did, while he tousled Bain’s hair, “Have you been looking after your sisters in our absence, Prince Bain? Excellent! I am very proud of all of you, and I know your Da is, too.”

Bard finished speaking with Galion and Hilda and turned to envelope his children in a group hug. _Oh_ , _he_ _had_ _missed_   _his children..._  Thranduil felt a pang to his heart. He knew what that felt like, as he keenly felt the absence of his own son. He took a moment to send up a silent appeal to the Valar to look after Legolas, wherever he was.

Bard turned to him, “Are you hungry, love? I am after that long ride, and I need to clean up. I’m gritty.” He turned to Hilda and Galion, “Could we have dinner in Thranduil’s study? You all should come, too.”

The two other adults looked at each other and shook their heads. “Not tonight,” Hilda told them. “You need to be a family, and your kids have missed you dearly. Thank you, though. We’ll see about getting you folks fed.” And the others left, leaving the new little family to enjoy each other.

 

After dinner, and when everyone was settled in their beds, Thranduil and Bard were sitting on the fur rug by the fire in their bedroom, with Bard’s head in his lap. As he was combing his fingers through his husband’s black curls, they watched the flames and relaxed. “Welcome home, Meleth nîn. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful family. I am loving your children more and more every day, and I want you to know I will protect them with my very life while they are in my care, and for as long as they live. I hope you always remember that.”

Bard took his hand, and kissed each of his fingers. “I know.” He kissed Thranduil’s palm. “I see you with my kids, and… I can’t tell you what it’s like to feel so happy.” He looked up and said, “Thranduil, for so long, I never thought I would feel really happy again. I thought my life would always be about that boat, that cold house, and that miserable town. I was always scrounging to keep my children fed decently, and many times I couldn’t, so I went without." He sighed.  

"Oh, _Meleth nîn..."_ Thranduil murmured.  "How that must have broken your heart."

"It was already broken, because Mattie was gone.  There wasn't any reason to hope for better...” As Bard looked into the fire, he saw the golden flames reflecting in his hazel ones. “Now...here we are. Is it all real?”

“Yes, my Bard. It is very real, and so am I.” He pulled Bard into a sitting position and started kissing his brow, his eyes, his nose, cheeks. “You have given me a new life; you have made all the colors in it brighter. You have brought new breath into my lungs and hope into my heart. It is I who wonder if you can be real."  He kissed Bard gently on the mouth, as he ran his hands through those thick, glorious black curls.

Bard got up, took him by the hand, and led him to the bed. It was quite a while and many pleasures later, before they finally fell asleep, laying, exhausted, in each other’s arms.

 

The next morning, after breakfast in Bard's study with the children, Bard went to see how the construction was coming along in the Great Hall, the children went to their various places for the day; Bain to his lessons with Tauriel, Sigrid to help the Healers, and Tilda to the Children’s Tent. Bronwyn had begun a general school for them, to help structure their day, and to begin to ensure that the children of Dale would be well-educated, every last one of them.

Thranduil’s morning meeting was with Feren, to discuss how things went in the Camp while he was gone, and go over the rotation of the duty rosters over the winter, for the troops. Feren was a very capable leader, so there were very little changes that needed to be made, just some tweaking here and there, as they discussed matters.

“I have been told that you and your wife would like to adopt two of the orphans, my friend. I take it, they were the two little girls you and Tauriel were with yesterday at the parade?” Thranduil smiled at his Commander. “They are enchanting little ones. Tell me about them.”

Feren grinned. “I do not know quite how it happened, Sire. I went to visit the children one day, and Lady Bronwyn directed me toward the orphans, to keep them company. I went over and those two little ones were sitting together holding hands. They looked up at me, and…I cannot explain it.”

“You do not have to explain; I know what it is like. You can hardly remember what your life was like before you knew them, correct?”

The Commander laughed. “That is exactly the case. I have spoken my intentions to Lady Hilda concerning their welfare…”

Thranduil raised his brow. “That is wise. She is very concerned about them, but she is also careful. Have you passed muster with her? You must, you know. Bard’s or my opinion means nothing in this matter. She will have the final say.”

“I have met with her a few times. She has asked many questions about my life in the Woodland Realm and as a soldier. Neither she nor the girls have met Glélindë yet, so Lady Hilda promised she would visit with her and inspect our home. I would like to request to travel with you and the caravan to the Woodland Realm with the people of Dale, so I might introduce the girls to Glélindë and we could meet with Hilda together. I am very anxious that we be allowed to raise them in our home.”

“I do not see why not, provided you assign someone competent to guard Dale while I am away.” Thranduil granted.

“May I ask what your plans are for me in the foreseeable future? Lady Hilda had asked me as much, and I believe that our chances for adoption would be better if you plan to have me stationed in one place, rather than move back and forth for extended periods of time.”

Thranduil sat back and thought. “I will be spending most of my time here for the foreseeable future, in order to offer what help I can to the Three Northern Kingdoms. The Council will do the governing in the Woodland Realm, the Army and Guardians are well-practiced in protecting our Kingdom, and they will continue, under your strict guidance.  Dale is the most vulnerable of al, the North, and will be for many decades, so you will be charged with maintaining it’s protection.

“Thank you, sire.”

Thranduil and Feren stood and clasped forearms. “I wish you the very best in this endeavor, and I hope to offer my congratulations before too long.” Feren smiled, bowed, and left the room.

After this, the Elvenking and Galion got caught up on some paperwork, until his next appointment, which would be after the midday meal. They both worked at the same table, sorting through reports and messages, until it was time to eat.

Tilda returned from the Children’s Tent for lunch today. Under normal circumstances, she would stay and eat with her friends, but King Thranduil and the Princess Tilda had some very important business to attend to.

After their meal of a delicious hot soup and warm, crusty bread with fruit, the Elvenking made sure the little one was bundled up warmly, and they went through the streets of Dale, hand in hand to see the wagon full of things he had brought with him from his Palace. There were bundles, with the name of each child who spent their days in the Children’s Tent with Bronwyn and her helpers.

There was even a package for Tilda. Her eyes shone, as she unwrapped her stuffed Elk. It resembled the one he used to ride, with a removable saddle and bridle. When she unwrapped another couple of outfits for Charlotte, she squealed with delight, then threw her arms around Thranduil and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

All that was left, was to await their guests and they would be ready.

Soon, word reached the North Gate of Dale, that a wagon from Erebor was approaching. They were opened, and in rode Tilda’s friend Bofur, with Tauriel and Oin. Tilda was jumping up and down with excitement, until Thranduil whispered in her ear, then she regally walked to the Dwarves and curtsied to their guests very formally, as a proper Princess of the Realm should do, to the delight of everyone.

Bard came out to meet them all, smiling. “Are we ready, folks? Oh, wait! Let me get Hilda and Percy. They would enjoy this.” The couple in question was sent for. Impulsively, Thranduil sent for Feren, to join the fun.

When they were assembled, all the toys were loaded onto the same wagon, and it slowly made its way to the Children’s Tent.

After a short speech by Bard, then Thranduil, who thanked Princess Tilda and all the Dwarves for their help, each package was distributed to the proper child, and soon the air was filled with squeals, squeaks, and gasps of pure delight, as only children can do. Thranduil watched the scene, arms crossed, next to Tauriel, who was giggling at the joy of it all.  Bronwyn’s nose was buried in her handkerchief, as was most of the older folk, and some of the Elven visitors were wiping their eyes.

Even Bofur and Oin were clearing their throats a great deal.

Thranduil went to them and offered a respectful Elven salute. “Dwarven-made toys are unmatched in their ingenuity and quality, and the children have been truly blessed by your generosity. Thank you for your help with Princess Tilda’s Mission.” He smiled at Bofur.

“Aye, she came to me and told me all about your Commission. She was very serious about it, too. The folks at Erebor were anxious to help. Bifur especially.  Just about half of them toys were made by him. He’ll be pleased to hear they were so greatly appreciated.”

“I am sorry he could not come along to see for himself, but please, extend my thanks to him, and to everyone who helped. I am aware that Dwarves think of children just as highly as Elves do.”

Oin nodded very seriously. “That’s true enough. Your Healers are right; laughter is the best medicine. Those wee ones will do better when they can turn away from the ugliness.” Oin indicated the tent itself. “Lady Tilda told me you had all this set up for them. ‘Twas a grand idea, that.”

“It is a wonderful idea, but I cannot take the credit. The esteemed Lady Hilda and my Aide, had all this set up within hours. She wanted the small ones removed them from most of the sights and sounds of the cleanup, and allowed them to be children again. I am glad to know that you, Master Oin, agree with my Chief Healer about high spirits keeping the body healthy.”

“Aye, that I do.”

He looked across the little heads, and he saw Feren, sitting cross-legged with little Dafina in his lap while Alis sat in front of him, smiling as they were opening and holding up their new presents. The girls, with their wide blue eyes, and curly blonde hair were adorable. Feren was helping the littlest one work a toy that the Dwarves have made, and as she laughed, he kissed her forehead. He saw Bard sitting cross-legged and grinning, surrounded by little ones, as he helped them with their gifts.

Thranduil returned to Tauriel’s side as she was laughing at some of the young boys, racing around with their toy mechanical ravens. He put his arm around his foster-daughter’s shoulders. She looked at him in surprise. _“Iellig, gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig,”_ he said, as he smiled down at her, and kissed her hair.

She smiled up at him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. _“Hannon le, Ada,”_ and she leaned her head against his shoulder.  To Thranduil, that was the most precious gift given, during that magical afternoon. He stood there, with his daughter, and enjoyed the sight. Yet again, he felt grateful to the Valar for bringing a certain scruffy, wild-haired Bowman into his life, who helped him find the courage to love again.

 

NOTES:  
The story of the Anor, the Sun, can be read in the Silmarillion: Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor.”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Iellig, gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig_  - I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh, my daughter.

 _Hannon le, Ada_ – Thanks, Dad


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghost from the recent past haunts Bard, and it causes trouble between he and Thranduil - no marriage is perfect, isn't it?
> 
> Thranduil gets a surprise visitor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PTSD is very real, and it can cripple lives, but there is hope! It isn't just the victims that suffer, it's their families as well!
> 
> -For more information on PTSD nightmares, please check out this link. There are many others, a well as groups in VA hospitals everywhere: http://www.ptsdupdate.com/treating-flashbacks-nightmares-intrusive-memories/

_The large bell hit Bard’s head, yet again… Finally, he took his sword and cut the damned rope to stop it. He didn’t want the noise to attract attention to him, while he nocked his bow, aiming for Smaug as he approached him. Arrow after arrow flew, trying to fell the beast before he killed them all. At the very least, he was hoping to stall the Dragon, buying his people time to get out of the city…_

_He reached down, and quickly saw that this was his last arrow; his last chance… Saying a quick prayer to the Valar, again, he took aim. And, again, the projectile bounced off the scales._

_“Da!”_

_Bard turned behind him, and there was Bain! No! He was supposed to leave!_

_…He braced himself as he pulled on the bowstring… “Bain, look at me! You look at me,” tried to calm his son. He saw the missing scale and let the Black Arrow fly…_

_It missed! Enraged, Smaug said, “You think you can kill me, Bowman? You dare to use your son to defeat me? He will die!” Quickly, before could react, the Dragon swooped his head down and grabbed Bain…_

_“Da! No! Help me! Help me!” Bain screamed for his father, as he was_ _held in the teeth of the firedrake. His eyes and arms reached out for him, desperately._  
_Bard screamed his son’s name, and begged the Dragon to kill him instead. Smaug mocked him his eyes, laughing, as he squeezed his jaws, causing Bain to scream in pain…_

_“NO! NO! BAIN! STOP! PLEASE!! Don’t hurt my son!”_

_Smaug continued to laugh, mocking Bard, as the squeezed his son harder between his teeth, Bain’s eyes bugged out, unable to make a noise, then, as blood dripped from the Dragon’s mouth, the boy’s eyes lost their focus. Blood seeped from Bain’s mouth and he grew limp._

_Bard screamed in agony, as he saw Smaug chew on the body of his son, like it was a snack, all the while, a mocking laugh was heard in his ears. He couldn’t watch anymore, but he was unable to close his eyes. Crying, and sobbing his son’s name, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”_

_Bard fell to his hands and knees, sobbing, hiding his face in his hands, blocking out the horrible scene…_

_He felt something grab him, and he recoiled violently. It was the dragon, reaching for him… He was the next victim… That thing had just killed his son, and he was coming for Bard, now… He backed away, swinging his arms, desperately trying to fend off the attack…_

_Then very strong hands got hold of one of his arms, not letting go. He tried desperately to break free, he had to escape. He took a swing at Smaug’s head, hitting it hard, hoping to break the grip long enough to get away…_

_“BARD! STOP! BARD!” Smaug shouted at him._

_“GET AWAY FROM ME!!!” He wrestled himself free, and backed up. He his feet slipped from the edge of the tower, and he fell down, down, toward the icy water, screaming his son’s name._

_“BARD! You must stop this! Wake up!” The water was so icy, it felt like he hit his head on a solid surface. He felt hands on his wrists, holding him down, and he struggled against them. He was pinned down, and couldn’t move…_

“Bard! Please! It is all right…you are safe, _Meleth nîn_. You are safe; it is all right.”

Bard opened his eyes, expecting to see Smaug’s face, but he slowly focused in on long white hair, hanging around his face, and frightened, grey eyes. He blinked a couple of times, still gasping for breath, his heart still pounding.

“Bard? Please, Bard, wake up! You’re having a nightmare. It is not real. Please!”

“Wh… Thran…” Bard was rasping, confused. The Elf was straddling him, holding his wrists over his head, to keep him from moving. “Oh, no… no… wh…”

“Calm down, _Meleth nîn_ , please. It was a dream. It was not real, you are safe. You are safe, Bard. Everything is all right.” Thranduil’s voice became less urgent, more soothing. “Look at me, Bard. Look at me. It is me, Thranduil. I am your husband, and you are safe. We are in our bedroom, and the children are safe.”

Bard started to calm down, but when Thranduil spoke about the children, his breaths increased again. “Safe? They’re safe?” He rasped, in between the heaving of his lungs. “Bain’s not dead? He’s alive?” His vision became blurry again, and the Elvenking went out of focus…

“Look at me, Bard,” he said in low soothing tones. “Look at me. Breathe. I need you to breathe. You are very, very pale. Please. Take several deep breaths.”

Bard was trying, to calm, trying to even out his breaths, but they still came as desperate gasps. “Pl…” He couldn’t breathe right.

Thranduil let go if his wrists, and pulled Bard up into a sitting position, still straddling his hips. He held Bard tightly, rubbing his back. “Do it with me, breathe in; watch me. Breathe out… Calm down. Breathe…” Thranduil murmured some words in Elvish, holding Bard’s face in his hands. “Shh…” He whispered.  “Look at me, Bard. Breathe with me. Everyone is safe and in their beds. It was just a dream… You are here with me, and I love you.”

Bard calmed down, and his breaths became normal, as he got more air into his lungs, but he was still shaking. “It was so real…” he said in a small, voice. “Oh, Valar, Thran. Please tell me it wasn’t real…” He felt his face wet with sweat and tears, and he couldn’t take his eyes off his husband’s face. He didn’t want to, because if he did, maybe he would go back to that awful place. He didn’t want to cry, but he was so upset at the memory of it…

Thranduil helped Bard to his feet, and settled him back on the bed, under the covers, to warm him. He put a couple of logs on the fire, to bring more heat the room, and lit the lamp by his side of the bed. Taking a spare blanket, he sat down beside Bard, and wrapping it around both of them, and reached over to the side table, and brought some water to Bard’s lips, making him drink it down.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Thranduil smiled. “I would say you were having a nightmare every bit as terrible as the ones I have, at times.”

Bard wiped his eyes on the blanket, and leaned his head on the Elf’s shoulders. “I dreamed about that fucking Dragon! I saw Smaug kill my son… Right in front of me. It was horrible! I was on the Bell Tower, like I was that night, except I missed. The Dragon grabbed Bain, and I watched him die, and I couldn’t save him…”

He felt Thranduil tense. He sat very still, next to Bard. He could sense something in him close; a barrier, it seemed, separating them.

“Thranduil?” He turned his head and leaned forward. Thranduil was looking straight ahead, into the fire, his mouth in a grim line. Bard sat back, and was silent for a few seconds, then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake or upset you…”

Thranduil turned to him, with a fake, masked smile, not meeting his eyes. “You were very upset, and perhaps you need to get your thoughts onto something else…”

Bard looked at his Elf. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, _Meleth nîn._ I am concerned about you, and wish you to feel better. You had a terrible nightmare, and you fell off of our bed.” He entwined their fingers. “Are you all right now?”

“I will be. What happened? All I know is I was having this terrible nightmare, and then you were hovering over me, getting your hair in my face.” He nudged Thranduil with his shoulder.

“You were jerking your arms and legs, and shouting. I tried to wake you up, but you became agitated. I had to try to hold you down, you were flailing around so. It didn’t help. It only seemed to make things worse.”

“How did I end up on the floor?”

“You broke free from my grip, then you punched me, and fell off the bed.” Thranduil told him, “But please to not wor -“

“I WHAT?!” Bard jerked away from the Elf, eyes widened, looking at Thranduil, trying to discern whether or not he was joking. He wasn’t. Bard jumped up and got out of the bed, turning away from him and walking towards the fire, his hands on the back of his neck. “I can’t believe I did that… Oh, shit, Thranduil!  I don’t remember that. I’m so, so sorry…” Bard flopped into one of the stuffed chairs, and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Now his waking life became just as terrible as his dream was.

 _He had actually punched his husband._ He had committed a despicable act, against the one he loved most in this world. Only a coward and a bully did such things, and Bard wanted the earth to open up and swallow him.

His dreams had made him dangerous.  Bard's skin crawled with self-loathing, and he became highly agitated.

He felt his husband’s hands on his shoulders, and Bard quickly jerked away. “Please don’t touch me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please.”

“Why not?”

Still covering his face, he said, “Because I’m ashamed of myself, that’s why! What if it was Sigrid or Bain who came to wake me up?” His voice broke. “I… I don’t even know how to make this right. I hit you! No wonder you’re upset!”

“Bard! I am not upset!"

Bard got up from the chair, “Thranduil, that’s a lie, and we both know it.”

“I am not lying to you Bard! I know it wasn’t your fault! And you did not hurt me! I promise!”

“You think I don’t know you by now? I can feel it, Thranduil! You’ve just…cut yourself off from me, and you and I both know it. And what’s even worse,” he waved his hand. “You’re lying to me. You’re pulling away from me, and you’re lying about it! I know you’re lying to spare my feelings, but it's only making me feel worse!” He grabbed his heavy robe, and put it on, tying it at the waist. “I can’t...be here. I need some air.”

“Bard, please do not leave. If you would come and sit down...”

“NO!” Bard closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Just… I need to… I don’t know what I need to do, really. I’m too upset.”

Bard turned and left the room, leaving Thranduil standing by the fire, and closed the door behind him.

The stone floors were icy on his bare feet. He wasn’t even sure what to do with himself, he just knew he felt upset with himself, with Thranduil, and he didn’t know what to do.

He very quietly tiptoed into Bain’s room and sat down on the edge of the bed. It helped to see his boy. The dream seemed far away, before the sight of his living, breathing son. Bain was lying on his stomach, hugging the pillow, with his mouth slightly open, facing him. Bard tenderly and gently brushed his hair off of his brow, smiling. He sat and watched Bain sleep for a while, as the horrifying images faded at bit more.

He doubted he would be able sleep for the rest of the night. He had a tough time falling asleep anyway, though since he started sleeping with Thranduil, it was better.

He stood up, adjusted Bain’s blankets, and kissed his forehead, looking down at his boy before he left the room. He then went to the girls’ room to check on them. Tilda was facing the wall, and she kicked her covers off again. The room was a bit chilly, so he put some more wood in the fireplace for them, after he tucked her back in. He stepped over to Sigrid’s bed. He tucked her back in as well, and when he bent to kiss her on her hair, she opened her eyes, blinking awake.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.  I’m just warming up your room.” He whispered to her.

Instead, she sat up, concerned. “Can’t sleep again?”

“Shh… Don’t worry about me. Just being a good Da, and checking on my Sea Monsters.” He smiled, as he walked out the door.

As he closed the door quietly to the girls’ room, Tauriel opened her door, and peeked her head out. “Bard? Is everything all right?” she whispered. She was wearing a thick woolen robe and her hair was in a braid down one shoulder. She looked at his face. “Are you well, Bard?”

“I’m fine, Tauriel. I’m going to sit in my study for a while,” he smiled at her. “Please don’t worry.”

She nodded. “If you need anything please either get me, or the guards at the end of the corridor.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “I will. You go back to sleep, now.”

He went into his study, and lit the lamps, stirred the coals and put some wood on it. He sat down on a chair, and propped his feet up on another, and stared at the flames.

A soft knock at the door. “Come,” he said. Tauriel most not be able to get back to sleep, either.

“Da? Are you all right?” It was Sigrid, wrapped up in one of her blankets. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“It’s nothing sweetheart.” He smiled at her. “Nothing for you to worry about. Why don’t you go back to bed and get some rest, darling?”

“Did you have a bad dream again?” She asked, sitting on his lap and leaning up against him, leaning against his shoulder. At the look he gave her, she smirked and said, “Da, I know you’ve had bad dreams ever since we left Laketown.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, nervous.   _Oh, shit… What if I did this in front of the children?_   He scrutinized his daughter. She didn’t seem upset or frightened, just matter-of-fact.

She smiled at him, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Da. You always told me we should talk about it, right? So, tell me about your dream. It will help them to stop.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Not this one, I’m afraid. I love you, my girl, for thinking about me, but I really can’t tell you. I don’t want to upset you.”

She suggested, “Why don’t you talk to Thranduil about it? Is he awake?” At her father’s stricken face, she asked, “What happened, Da?”

“I can’t…” He covered his eyes.

She was direct, just like her mother. “Da. Tell me. Did you two have a fight?”

“No! Not at all, sweetheart. I… Can I ask you something, love?”

“Anything, Da.”

“When I had those dreams, did I shout, or get violent, or anything like that?”

She replied, “Sometimes you’d thrash around, and cry out. Sometimes I started to go wake you, but you’d woken before I could get over to your bed. I didn’t want to say anything…”

“Why not? You should have told me you were awake.”

“And worry you more than you already were? I wasn’t going to make things worse, Da. At least I was afraid to. I’m sorry. I should have asked you to talk about it before, but you’ve been so busy, and then you got together with Thranduil, and maybe I was hoping he could help. I should have tried to help you.”

“You’re my daughter. I should be looking after you, not the other way around.”

She looked up at him. “Even Da’s need looking after, sometimes. You should talk to Thranduil. He’s your husband, he should know about this.”

“He does, sweetheart.”

“Then why are you in here, and he’s there? I don’t understand. Is he mad at you? Did you argue or something?” Sigrid’s eyes were concerned.

“He’s upset with me.” Shit! It was out before he could stop himself. Bard swore under his breath, and shook his head, as he rubbed his forehead.

Sigrid stood up, and looked him, worried, and a little frightened. She, more than most children, knew first hand how life can fall apart in an instant, leaving despair in its wake. He had no business saying things like that to her. He hated himself even more for making her suffer for his mistake.

Bard tried to reassure her. “I’m sorry. Look; it’s nothing. It’s really nothing, I just had a bad dream, and now it’s over. I promise, you don’t have to worry. It’s fine.”

“Oh, really? Then why is he upset with you? You just had a bad dream, Da! That’s a stupid reason to…”

“It’s nothing. I misspoke…”

“You did not! He had no right to get mad at you! Now, what happened?” She demanded.

Bard took his feet off the chair, and stood up. “I am NOT going to talk to you about this!” He said sharply, and again, he regretted his words. Could he be more of an ass?

Sigrid’s eyes were wide with alarm, and hurt.

“I’m sorry, my girl. I’m sorry. Please…” He pulled her close, and enveloped her in a hug, setting his chin on the top of her head. “Please, forgive me. I don’t mean to hurt you…” He heard her sniffle.   _Oh, shit..._   “Please, Sigrid. Stop worrying about me. I will be fine.” He kissed her forehead. “I can’t talk to you about all this. And you’re right. I should be talking to my husband. I promise; it’s not what you think. I know you don’t understand, but that’s all right. You don’t have to try to understand everything.”

He wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and steered her toward the door. “I promise you, everything is fine. I’m very upset and jittery from my dream, and needed a change of scenery, to collect myself. You’re a good girl, but don’t worry.” He kissed her hair. “Come, my girl. Let your Da put to you bed and tuck you in, yeah?”

“I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“Look, you want to make me feel better? Let your old Da pretend you’re my little girl, even for just a few minutes.” He smiled down at her. “Now, come on.”

Bard walked her to her room, and, once he had her tucked in, he went to his study and banked the fire, and blew out the lamp. He walked back into his bedroom, and closed the door behind him, seeing Thranduil, sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace. He didn’t look up at Bard when he came in; he just stared at the flames, with a sad, serious look on his face. Bard went to the table, poured them both some drinks, and, after giving one to his husband, sat down in the other chair. Bard had no idea what to do, or even how to feel, right now.

They sat in silence for a long period of time.

“Where did you go?” Thranduil asked, still watching the fire.

“I needed to look at my son for a while, then I tucked the girls in.”

“Is that all? You were gone for quite some time, Bard.”

“I sat in my study, and Sigrid came to keep me company.” Bard sighed, and emptied his cup. “She knows I’ve been having nightmares. She said I never got...violent, but I think it’s only because she never got near enough to me, thank the Valar, or it could have been her jaw I broke.”

“You asked her that? Did you tell her what happened?”

“Of course, I didn’t tell her I punched you! She just told me what she noticed. I…got frustrated when she kept pressing me for details, and I shouted at her.” He admitted, getting up to pour himself another cup.

“I heard.”

“Elven hearing.” Bard smirked, still not looking at him.

 “I am sorry, Bard.”

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who punched my own husband. Only a monster does that.”

“Do you remember doing that in your dream?”

“I punched Smaug on the snout, when he tried to hold me down. Where did I get you?”

“On the jaw. But it is…”

“No! Thranduil, it isn’t! A decent man does not hit his spouse! Don’t you understand?”

“Bard, you did not hit me, your dream did!  It is not your fault. And you did not hurt me. My jaw is a bit tender, but Elves do not get hurt so easily, like Men do.”

Bard looked at Thranduil, who was still staring at the fire. “Why did you lie to me, Thranduil? I felt you pull away from me, and you denied it. How could I not think you were angry?”

The Elf leaned over, his elbows on his knees. “I was afraid to tell you the truth.”

“Which is?”

“I…have the same type of dreams.”

“I know you have nightmares about that, love. In fact, the night we met on the parapet was because we both had nightmares.”

“Yes. That is not what I meant, _Meleth nîn._ You said your dream was about Smaug.”

“So… You were never mad at me about…”

“I was never mad at all, Bard! Why can you not accept that! I am an Elf. I do not bruise easily. More to the point, I am intelligent enough to know that you were not yourself!  Please allow me some credit.” He finally turned to meet Bard’s eyes, and he looked frustrated.

Bard asked, “Then will you tell me what is wrong?”

The Elf toyed with his glass. “I am at fault. You are my husband, and you should be able to tell me anything."

“Thranduil, I already know you dream about killing that Dragon. What's the problem?"

Thranduil nodded. “When you tried to tell me about your dream, I could not…listen. I turned away from you, when you needed me." Thranduil, swallowed, still not looking at him. “I am sorry.”

Bard considered. “You and I and Bain are the only ones on Middle Earth who understand what facing a Dragon is like. And it seems we’re all haunted by it. Maybe anyone who gets near one of those things gets suffers, because they’re so inherently evil.  Regardless, maybe you and I could help each other with it.”

“How would we do that?”

“When I was young, my Da always said talking about your nightmares helps, and I’ve told the same thing to my kids. In fact, that’s why I got frustrated with Sigrid. She was pressing me to speak about it, like we always do. But how do I tell her about something so horrible?”

“I am not like you, Bard.” Thranduil said, very quietly.

“I know you’re not, love. I know things like this are hard for you; Galion had to tell your story, when we met with Gandalf. But, maybe if you did actually speak about it, things could get better. What you went through was…”

Thranduil’s eyes closed, and he started to breath rapidly. “Please stop.”

“I’m sorry, love."

“Please do not apologize. It is I who is sorry. I shut myself off from you, and was not honest about it. I am not strong, like you. I cannot do this.”

Bard took Thranduil by the hand, and led him to the bed. Taking off both of their robes, he got under the covers with his husband and held him close.

“There. That’s better.” He kissed Thranduil’s hair, as his head lay on his shoulder. “I want us to work this out. I can’t go to sleep every night, afraid I’ll beat my husband to a pulp. That’s the problem I have. You need to find a way to face up to your memories, which is the problem you have.”

“It would seem so. I do not know what to do.” Thranduil agreed.

“Well, how about we fix one problem at a time? The easiest to think on is what we should do if one of us has nightmares. We can’t prevent them, but I don’t want to abuse you, again.”

“You did not abuse me, Bard.”

“Yes, I did. And you must always tell me if it happens. I have to know, and I can’t bear it when you lie, because I feel it when you do. So, promise me?”

“I promise.”

“Sigrid told me I had bad dreams when we were in our tent, or in the shelter before. She would hear me cry out, and rolling to and fro, but I woke myself up before she got to me.” He looked down at his Elf. “When you suffer from this, what does Galion do?”

“He shakes me awake. It helps. But perhaps that would not work for you.”

“I don’t think so, either. So, how about this: If you wake and find me having a nightmare, try not to touch me. Maybe just talk to me to try and wake me up.”

“What if you roll off of the bed? I cannot refuse to try and catch you.”

“Well, how about if you line up some pillows close to the edge, to help prevent that?”

Thranduil looked up at him. “That would be a solution.”

“I think so too.” Bard said, “I only hit you in the jaw, but what if I had punched the bad side of your face? I don’t want the children to come near me either, so we’re going to explain in general terms what needs to be done. I can’t hurt anyone; I couldn’t live with myself. So, let’s try that, all right, love? If it doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”

He and his Elf kissed each other again, and snuggled back down. “There. That’s the only problem I want to think on tonight. Everything else can wait until tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

His worries of staying awake the rest of the night were unfounded. Within minutes, they were deeply asleep, in a warm, loving embrace.

 

***************

 

Thranduil woke up facing away from Bard, and smiled as he felt the warmth against his back. The Elf’s eyes focused on the opposite wall, at first, and then his gaze lowered to an unexpected object in front of him.

Brown hair, and antlers. His brows furrowed for a second or two, in confusion, until he woke up completely. Ah. Little Tilda must have come in and brought her new toy. He looked down at what he could see of the little girl’s sleeping face; most of it was buried in the stuffed elk. He was thankful he was still wearing his night clothes. Normally, he and Bard would be naked, but during the night’s upset, he had dressed to ward off the chill. He was also thankful that she had gotten in on his side of the bed, because he remembered that her father wasn’t wearing anything.

He felt his husband stirring behind him, snuggling in deeper, as he softly snored into the back of the Elf’s neck. He picked up the hand from his waist and kissed it, entwining their fingers, as he watched his new daughter sleep.

He was genuinely fond of all Bard’s children, but he had to admit Tilda tugged at his heartstrings the most. Sigrid and Bain were older, and spent much of their days pursuing their own interests, while this little one’s biggest desire was to simply be loved. How could anyone resist that?

“Good morning, love.” He heard a very sleepy voice behind him.

“Shh! Keep your voice down.” Thranduil whispered softly.

Bard raised his head, curious.

Thranduil turned to him and kissed him. “We have a visitor.” He pointed to the hair and antlers beside him, smiling proudly.

Bard pulled him closer to his chest, kissing his neck and propping his chin on Thranduil’s shoulder, whispering, “I should be jealous, you know. But mostly I’m just glad she didn’t crawl in on my side, or she’d have gotten a shock.” They watched their littlest sleep for a few minutes. “She seems to like the Elk, doesn’t she? I’m surprised Charlotte’s not with her.”

Another kiss on his shoulder was felt, as Thranduil carefully pulled the blanket back a bit to see her better. “Look,” he whispered to Bard. Charlotte was snuggled there too, in between Tilda and her Elk. He turned to look at the Bowman. “I think you should know that I only married you to be nearer to your children.”

“I admire your self-sacrificing nature. That’s the only reason I married you.” Bard smirked back. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other, then. When you spirit my children away, would you be so kind as to allow me to see them, occasionally?”

Thranduil rolled on his back and stroked the Bowman’s cheek with his knuckles. “What I would prefer, is to spirit you all away to my Palace, and have you to myself.” He looked into those beautiful greenish eyes. “I wish I didn’t have to share you with anyone.” He ran his finger down the lines of Bard’s throat. “I want to take you, in the spring into my forest, to see if your eyes really do match my tree. It saved my life as a Elfling, and you have saved my life as a fully-grown _ellon_. I think it only fitting that I introduce you.”

“I think you’ve got it wrong, Thranduil. It was you who saved my life, and the lives of my people.”

“I may have saved you in my capacity as King, Bard, but you have saved my heart, which is just as important as my life. I didn’t have one, before I met you. I only existed. An endless death.”

Bard looked at him, thoughtfully, then he bent his head and kissed his lips, softly.

Then there was a stirring to Thranduil’s left. He pulled himself up to sit against the headboard, while Bard reached down beside the bed and pulled his robe on, as best he could, without exposing himself. He managed to get it around him, and tied, before Tilda fully woke and sat up, blinking.

“Good morning, Little Bean.”

“Morning Da, morning Thrandool.”

“Did you sleep well, Tilda?” Thranduil asked the little one, as she rubbed her eyes and clutched her toys with the other arm. “I see you have been wandering at night.”

She yawned. “I woke up, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. So, I came here.” She looked at him, “Was that all right?”

“Of course, _Tithen pen._ I am simply sorry you were disturbed in your room. Your father tells me that he has to pull your blankets up frequently, because you like run a race in your sleep.”

Tilda rolled her eyes. “That’s what he always says.”

Bard smiled. “I’m sorry if I woke you, Beanie."

“You didn’t mean it. I heard voices in the room with the table. I’m not used to this place, yet. It’s so different.”

“Yes, it sure is. And it they aren't even our permanent rooms. We’ll be here for some time, though. You’ll be in Thranduil’s Palace this winter, so you’ll be seeing and doing all kinds of fun things there, won’t you?”

She looked at Bard and Thranduil thoughtfully. “Do I have to go?”

Thranduil took her hand, “We need you to help make sure the rest of the children are happy, while they are with us. You will all have lessons in our Main Dining Hall, and I need you to listen to them, and tell me if any are unhappy. I cannot do this, Hilda cannot do this, not even your big sister or brother can.”

“Really?”

“It is true, _hênig._ Do you remember how we talked about the children who have no parents? Well, during your stay, Lady Hilda, Galion and I will try to find parents to raise them among my people. You could be a big help with this, but you must not tell the children of about it.” He hooped her nose.  “This must be a secret.”

"Why do I have to listen?"

"If you see, or hear anything that tells us the children are unhappy with the people Lady Hilda places them with, you must come and tell us right away. If the children know you are helping us, they might not want to tell you what we need to know.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because they might be afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Perhaps they are afraid of disappointing anyone. Maybe they have a preference of one home over another, but do not want to hurt anyone’s feelings. And maybe,” he put his fingers under her chin, “they are having nightmares, and are feeling badly, like you do sometimes, but do not want to say. Lady Hilda, the Healers, and I need to know these things, so we can take very good care of them, and help them feel safe and loved again. Can you do this for your Da and me?”

The little girl considered this for a few moments, then nodded.

“Where will I stay?” Tilda asked Thranduil, while on the other side of him, Bard got up and went into the necessary.

Thranduil used the blanket on their laps to map out the Royal Wing with his fingers, and where their apartment will be. “You will be right in between myself, and Lady Hilda. There are two doors: one leading out to the hall, and another that leads into my chambers. My study is here, right across the hall, and Galion’s is there, right beside me. There will be guards, here, here, and here. You will all be busy, and your father will visit.”

Tilda still didn’t look convinced, so Thranduil changed the subject. “What are your plans for today?”

“Breakfast, then Tauriel will take me to the Children’s Area, like every day. We can’t walk around outside too much anymore. It’s too cold.”

“Even more reason why you would be happier in a nice, warm palace, do you not think?” He picked up her stuffed Elk. “I am glad you like him. Have you named him, yet?”

“What was the name of the Elk you had?” Tilda asked.

“His name was _Bara-Maethor_ , which means “Fiery Warrior.”

Tilda considered this. “I don’t think I want to name my Elk that.”

“Well, you don’t have to. You can name him anything you wish. Perhaps after something you like.”

Thranduil smiled down at her and kissed her hair. He heard a noise, and looked up.

Bard came back from the necessary and smiled at his husband and his daughter, cuddling on the large bed. As their eyes met in a loving look, Bard lifted his hand and placed it on his heart. Smiling back at him, Thranduil touched his own, keeping it there for several moments.

“I know!”

“What do you know, _Tithen pen?”_ He turned his head to look at their youngest child. “What is it?”

“What to name my Elk!”

“And that would be…?” He asked, as Bard walked back toward the bed.

“Daisy! His name is Daisy.”

Thranduil eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he heard a small snort from his left. “I am afraid, Tilda, that only male Elks have antlers. Females do not.”

“Everybody knows that.” She rolled her eyes. “But I like daisies. You said to name him after something I like. So…”

“I did say that, yes. But -“

“And I don’t like scary warrior names. My Elk doesn't like to fight, or do anything mean. He likes to eat grass, and pick flowers. His favorite flowers are daisies, just like me.” She looked at him as if this logic should be apparent to anyone. “His name is Daisy,” she said slowly and firmly, as if explaining to simpleton, which, obviously Thranduil was, in this matter.

“‘Daisy,’ it is, then,” Thranduil confirmed. “Now, your father and I need to wash and get dressed, and so do you, little one. Give your Da a good morning kiss, and we shall see you at breakfast.”

As Tilda kissed them both on the cheek, then scampered off, Bard sat down on the bed, smiling at the Elf. He didn’t smile for long, because Thranduil grabbed him by the robe and imprisoned his mouth in a crushing, consuming kiss. Bard was helpless to do anything but respond in kind, as he put his hand on the back of the Elvenking’s head to give as good as he got.

When they finally parted, Bard looked at him with the side of his mouth upturned. “It seems my little witch has placed a very powerful spell upon you, love. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not a thing, _Meleth nîn._ If this is truly an enchantment, I never want to be released from it.”

 

Breakfast was a lively affair, with lots of chatter about plans for the day. Thranduil wanted to go over the lists of supplies that the city would need for the next shipment, so he arranged to meet with Bard and his Aides, along with Galion, first thing. Bard wanted to double-check the progress on repairs to the city walls; it needed to be finished as soon as possible, to better protect the city during the cold winter months.

Sigrid, of course, had her lessons with the Healers, and Bain had his lessons with his sword. During the afternoons, Galion was to meet with the two older children to begin to tutor them in their formal education. All of Bard’s children had learned their letters and could read, thanks to Mattie and Hilda, but there was much more that the young Prince and Princesses would need to know. For now, they would focus on the basics. Reading, writing, and maths. The more intense instruction would begin in the Woodland Realm. Thranduil wanted to get them started as soon as possible. “It will help them to adjust better in my Palace, if we start their daily routine now.” Thranduil suggested, and Bard agreed.

How to approach Bard about his level of education without insulting him, or making him feel inadequate? He needed to assess exactly what Bard needed to be taught, if anything. He told Galion it would be better if he were to ask himself, which his Aide agreed. The idea of having Bard sit in lessons with his children was out. He would never undermine his confidence that way.

Finally, that night, he just asked him outright, while they were having wine in front of the fire.

“I can read well, but there were only so many books to be had in Laketown. My Ma and Da taught me the basics in maths, to weigh fish and get paid.  Mattie was a teacher back in Dorwinian, so she worked with me and brought books with her.  The children were so young when she died, or they would be a lot better than they are now.”

“How much writing have you been able to do, Bard? As a King, your handwriting must not only be legible and accurate, but flowing and attractive. Impressions count, Meleth nîn. I wish it weren’t so, but it is.”

Bard to his credit, answered honestly. “Not much at all, simply because paper and ink were hard to come by, and expensive. The Master didn’t want anyone to get ideas above his station.”

Thranduil took Bard’s hand and said. “I only ask these questions, because we both want you to be prepared. This does not mean I do not think you brilliant. You are a someone I greatly admire, and would do so, even if I didn’t love you.”

Bard looked down for a minute, then looked back up and met his eyes. “I know. It’s hard to admit, though.”

“Think nothing of it, Bard. These are minor details, which will be corrected with speed before the winter is done. I will help you any way I can. During the worst of the winter, there will be little to do, and you can use this time to increase your skills. I do not doubt you will accomplish this. I will have books sent from my library that you will need to read, plus a large amount of paper and ink for you to copy them, to practice your writing and spelling skills."

Bard looked concerned. “It’s one thing to treat with Dwarves; especially with you beside me, but how in the world would I ever fit in with more sophisticated countries? They will think me crude and backward.”

He got up and went to Bard’s chair, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. “Do not say that! Ever!” he reprimanded sharply. “You are the finest Man I have ever met, and considering my age, that is saying something! Bard, I have known many Kings, of all races, on Middle Earth, and you outshine them all. Book learning is only a small part of what a man actually is. It does not make up for governance, character, and strength. You excel at all of those. Do not forget that!”

Bard smiled up at him. “Well, I did manage to catch the eye of the Great and Powerful Elvenking.”

“Yes; you certainly did. So, listen to the Great and Powerful Elvenking, when I tell you there is something special about you.” Thranduil bent his head to kiss Bard.

“And what is so special?” Bard raised his eyebrows and smiled up at him, stroking his cheek, brushing his hair back.

Pulling Bard up to stand. “Your excellent lovemaking skills.” He smirked. “If I had my way, you would never leave my bed.”

“So… Your plan is to have me between your sheets, reading, and writing, and counting on my fingers? Well, if that’s your idea of schooling, I’m all for it.”

“Oh,” Thranduil started licking and kissing each finger of Bard’s hand, “I do believe there are several other, more important things you could do between my sheets.”

“There are?” Bard raised his eyebrows. “What could they possibly be, My King?”

He took the King of Dale over to the bed, and took off his robe, then his own landed on the floor on top of it. Then he lay on his back, pulling Bard on top of him, and kissed him, as their hands caressed each other. Their breaths became shorter, more rapid, Thranduil’s hands rubbed across Bard’s nipples, then reached up to take one his mouth, fondling the other one between his thumb and forefinger. He smiled, at the groan he brought forth in his husband, as he continued to nip and suck. He could feel Bard’s hand cradling the back of his head, and he could feel this hardened cock, rubbing against his, and their pleasure increased.

“That’s so good, Thranduil. You feel so good. I love you so much…” He whimpered as Thranduil bit down, with that delightful mixture of pleasure and pain, and licking, to sooth him.

Bard reached for the bottle of oil, after kissing him thoroughly and sat on his heels, between Thranduil’s knees. After pouring some on his fingers, the lavender smell surrounded them, as Bard massaged Thranduil’s hard length, his balls and then inserted a finger into him, causing the Elf to arch and moan.

“Oh… _Meleth nîn._ I love it. I love the way you touch me.” He closed his eyes and cried out softly, as Bard curled his finger upward, teasing his sweet spot, starting a fire that wanted to consume him, from the inside out. “I love you, Bard.”

 _“Gi melin, Thranduil.”_ Bard said, bringing Thranduil’s hand to his mouth, and began to suck on his fingers. It only added to the Elf’s pleasure. “I love to watch you come apart.” He said, between kisses on his hand. “I love how beautiful you are, and how your face looks, when you are lost.”

“Then find me, again, Bard.” He gasped, moving his hips from the decadence. “Bring me home to you. It is where I always want to be.” He arched upwards, his head back, eyes closed, lost in the sensuality of his husband’s touches. Bard was circling the gland inside him, then he was rubbing back and forth, and tapping it, each touch brought new sensations.

Bard added a second finger, making him feel fuller, and the decadence increased, as Bard continued to stroke him inside, while lightly brushing his fingers along the insides of his thighs, his groin, and his balls. His cock was rock hard to point of near-pain, and his hand reached for it without realizing it. He wanted to touch it; _he needed to be touched…_ He felt a hand slap his away.

“No, don’t touch. This is mine…” He heard, then he felt, Bard’s tongue lightly move up his length.

 _Oh, yes…_ Thranduil’s eyes closed, moaning. Then Bard blew on it, sending cool shivers all through him, all the while, stroking his gland. He writhed in pleasure.

Then, he felt the fingers leave him, emptying him. He laid there, waiting for Bard to enter him, looking forward to the sensation. He was ready, eager….

But the fingers entered him again, only this time, there was a third. He hissed slightly at the sensation, but from pleasure, mixed with pain causing his rock-hard cock to twitch violently, throbbing with heat. As Bard went at his insides yet again, with just the right pressure, not too much, not too little, Thranduil cried out, and his hands grabbed fistfuls of sheets, his hips began to thrust, and his back curled, trying to fuck Bard’s fingers. He let out a series of noises, each getting louder as oiled fingers massaged his balls gently.

He was on fire, now, and cursing filthy things in Sindarin, as Bard continued to plague him, as he begged to be stroked outside as well as inside.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but you’re welcome.” He heard Bard tease, as he moved his oiled hand slowly up and down his hard, aching length.

“I am not thanking you, Bowman, _Pen-'ur!_   _Ci law vaer annin!_  Get your cock inside me, now, I command you!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely My King.” Bard quickly removed fingers, pulled Thranduil’s legs apart and plunged into him with one long stroke, causing them both to cry out.

Within seconds, Bard was pounding into him at punishing pace, looking down at him, panting hard, but a hint of smug satisfaction on his face.

_I am going to wipe that off his face…._

Thranduil grabbed Bard by the shoulders, pulling Bard out of him, and threw Bard on his back. He straddled the Bowman, and guided his cock into his entrance and lowered himself, then started slamming down on him, eyes closed, head back. _Yes, yes, yes…_

Now Thranduil was in control. He grabbed Bard’s hands, pinning them over his head, and continued to slam onto Bard, making him growl and buck his hips.

He bit Bard on his shoulder, his nipples, and his chest. Bard was struggling to get his hands free, so Thranduil let go of them. Bard managed to sit up, with Thranduil in his lap, and they continued their feral pace, scratching, clawing, biting each other until Thranduil felt the fire start in his lower belly.

Bard took Thranduil’s cock and began to stroke it, faster and faster, as their climaxes were building. He clutched his Bowman to his chest, gritted his teeth and screamed, as he was overwhelmed, and he came all over Bard’s hand, and on their chests. Three more strokes, and Bard was coming, and Thranduil yanked his head back by his hair and kissed him; plundering his mouth and swallowing his cries. Eyes closed, he reveled in each sensation, Bard’s as well as his own.

Bard was scratching him desperately on the back, trying somehow to contain the explosion within him, but it was to no avail. Their orgasms fed on each other, causing their cocks to throb and pulse all over again. It was almost too much to bear, and Thranduil’s muscles remained rigid as he crested and rode his husband’s pleasure, so soon after his own.

Gasping they both collapsed; exhausted, physically and mentally. All Thranduil could do was fall onto the mattress, pulling Bard down, so that they lay side by side, facing each other, panting. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t even form words in his head, in Elvish or Westron. All he could do was be and breathe, until his body came down from a place he didn’t know existed.

He had loved making love to Mírelen. He truly did. And it was always wonderful. She was very passionate, and gave to her husband as much as she received, and it delighted him. When they were together, he took such pleasure in her softness, and sweetness, and he loved to gather her to him, and envelope her, as she enveloped him. He will always remember being with her, and miss it.

With Bard, it was so different. They challenged and dared each other, wanting to see how much they could bring out of the other. It was rougher, savage, instinctual. _And absolutely magnificent._

He opened his eyes to look at his husband. Bard lay facing him, eyes still closed, panting. “Are you all right, _Meleth nîn?”_

“Don’t you worry about me, My King,” he panted. Bard grinned. “If this is what I get for teasing you to within an inch of your life,” he took a few deep breaths, “I plan to keep that up. You’re a beast at heart, aren’t you?”

“From the marks all over me, I would say that you were.” Thranduil grinned. “I would say that, except for the bitemarks I see on you.”

Bard laughed wickedly. “I regret nothing.” Bard, softened, pulled out of him, as he rolled on his back. “I think,” he observed, “your ‘Elf Thing’ might be the death of me. Just when I think it couldn’t get any better… Every time we are together, I can hardly believe it.”

“So, you’ve said before.” He smiled at Bard.

“Well, I’ll keep saying it, as often as I like. If you Elves are cursed with Immortality, then I see this as a very large compensation.”

“Well, you are now cursed with the same thing.” He kissed Bard.

“Lucky me, then.” Bard kissed him back, grinning. He got up, then took Thranduil’s hand, holding their robes in another. “We’re both a mess, and need a wash. Then to bed with both of us.”

They were, they did, and they went.

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Pen-'ur!_ \- Heartless!

 _Ci law vaer annin!_ \- You are a heartless Orc!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dale is preparing for their trip to Thranduil’s Palace for the winter, which depresses Bard. Galion and Thranduil teach Bard how to play a popular board game.
> 
> Tilda unwittingly sets events in motion, which ends with an unexpected biology lesson for poor Ada.
> 
> Hilarity ensues, as well as a bit of a tumble in the sheets for our beloved couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone set for the Eclipse? If you’re going to watch, make sure your goggles are safe. Knowing my luck, with will be cloudy in our area on Monday… Either way, it’s not an event to miss. 
> 
> [ Nuredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuredhel/pseuds/Nuredhel) has started a wonderful CSI-type Barduil called [Beast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664369). It’s shaping up to be a real nail-biter. I'm loving it. Check it out!

 

 

Bard stood in the middle of the Great Hall, watching all the preparations, and feeling despondent. The event Bard was dreading with all his heart was less than two days away - Bard would accompany his people to the Woodland Realm, then leave again for the winter. He would be separated from his children, who were his heart, and his husband, who was his soul.

The days leading up to it went all too quickly for the new family. Days were spent in meetings, and endless preparation. Storing up the supplies, checking the structures that they would be living and working in. Was the City Wall finished? Were there other places in the city that were vulnerable to attack? Was the new Main Gate completely secure? What about the side gate? Are the barns snug and warm for the animals? Do they have enough food to last them? What about the armory? Medicines?

The troops were scouring the woods along the paths, to make absolutely sure the road was cleared of Orcs, Wargs and spiders. Extra wagons came from the Realm, to help carry their passengers, and covers were affixed to them to shelter them from the elements. All the passengers would be in the wagons, and the soldiers who were protecting them would be surrounding them.

Tilda had burst into tears when she was told that she wouldn't be allowed to ride with Thranduil up front on his horse; she needed to stay with her brother and her sister in the wagon. She tried her very best to charm her way out of it, crawling into the Elvenking’s lap, turning her blue eyes and soft voice full blast on him, but he remained firm.

“I am sorry, _hênig_ , I must be way up front, to lead everyone, and I will need all my attention to watch and listen to the forest.” Then he explained to her how the trees and the birds will be telling him whether or not there will be trouble ahead. She batted her eyelashes, and promised her "very best promise" that she'd be quiet, but Thranduil wouldn't budge on this matter. Tilda threw a small tantrum, stomped her foot, and had to be sent to her room.

Then Bard had to spend twenty minutes consoling his husband, who was in despair over breaking his _Tithen Pen’s_ heart.

“Did you see her face? She’s in torment, Bard!” he said, with his face in his hands.

“Taken down so easily, by one little girl.” He shook his head. “One pout, and she turns you into a big bowl of mush!”

“Please be serious. I’ve hurt her; can you not see that? Maybe I should –“

“Don’t you dare! You know she'll be safer in the wagon. I promise you, she's  _not_ in torment, love.  She's just doing her best to make you think it. You must be stronger than this or, come spring, she’s going to be running the entire bloody Palace!” He laughed and put his arm around his husband’s shoulder. “Never go back on your word with children. Set limits, and be firm.”

“But she –“

Bard put his fingers on Thranduil’s lips. “Trust me. That one wields her blue eyes and smile as well as you do, with your swords. You’ll survive this, I promise.” Then he gathered his bowl of mush into his arms. “Some fierce Warrior-King you are.” He giggled into his hair.

Thranduil gave him a small smile, but wasn’t very cheered up. “I will try not to spoil her too badly over the winter.”

“Oh, I _know_ you won’t.”

“Really?” Thranduil raised his brows.

“Absolutely. Hilda will be there, if she catches you turning the children into self-indulgent brats, she’ll thrash your hide until you can’t sit on that throne of yours.” Bard grinned.

Thranduil snickered, but then became serious. “She is a wonderful woman, Bard, but she frightens me to death.”

“Welcome to my world. Just be glad she’s on our side, yeah?”

 

Hilda was also very busy preparing for the trip. Her job was to make sure everyone was able to travel in wagons for five to seven hours.  They’d be moving slower than a normal party, so some might not be well enough to make the trip just yet.

It was a blessing from the Valar that no one had been inflicted with fevers or colds yet. Hopefully, once they were ensconced in the Palace it would prevent illness. So far, only two men were still too wounded to make the trip, but hopefully, the could come when a supply caravan would return later. If not, then Thranduil’s Chief Healer and an assistant would remain in Dale to see to the men. Bard had a room off the Great Hall set up for the Healer, so they would remain there.

Five pregnant women were making the trip. Three of them were not so far along so there shouldn’t be a problem, but space in the wagons for all of them needed to be a priority. One woman, Seren, was seven months along, and she’d be able to travel with her two other young children, leaving her husband here.  She seemed very healthy, so the Healers weren’t too concerned, but she would be watched closely.

The one everyone was worried about was Rhian, a pretty young widow, who was eight and a half months gone. Garth, her husband, perished in the fires of Laketown and she had no family left - her Mam died years ago from a fever, and her father was killed in the Battle.

Hilda was very concerned, as she was not adjusting well to life in Dale. Like Tilda, she had suffered severe shock. She spent some time in the Healer’s tent, to make sure she was getting things to eat, and to be sure her unborn baby wasn’t traumatized, but it was difficult, because she couldn’t stand to be touched.  She was responsive, would answer questions asked of her, but she mostly stared into space, and was very pale. The ladies in the needlework circle made sure she was never alone. She’d been moved into a tent with two other older women, who made sure she ate, and rested, but she was pale, apathetic, and deeply depressed. They would keep a constant watch on her during the trip, and Thranduil would arrange for her to be taken straight to the Healing Hall of the Palace as soon as they arrived.

 

After Bard and Thranduil had spent their days going over all these things, they spent time with their children at night. They would gather in Bard’s study, to read, tell stories, and just savor their time together. To Thranduil’s great delight, Galion had brought a _Dagornaw_ game board and all the pieces. He had seen this game before, in the pubs, but the Laketown people called it Stratagem*.  Thranduil and Galion showed Bard how to play, then the Chief Aide sat with Bard, and talked him through the first several games.  Even Bain and Sigrid took turns playing, with Galion and Thranduil’s help. It was great fun.

Eventually, Bard could play without much help, but still Thranduil always won, and to Bard’s irritation, wasn’t a bit humble about it.

Bard was getting a bit frustrated, as Thranduil was enjoying these victories a bit too much, knocking the piece carved like a King on his side with relish, and saying, _“Oblet-haran! Tûramin!”_ grinning from ear to ear. Bard, with as much dignity as he could muster, replied with a loud raspberry, which made even Tauriel giggle.

 

One evening, just after he lost yet again, Bard’s humiliation was complete.   He had to make a mad dash to the necessary, to lose his dinner, while Thranduil rubbed his back, and tried to keep a straight face.

They'd been sitting at the table, with the game board between them, and Bard was deep in concentration.  Sigrid was seated on a stuffed chair, knitting a sock, while Bain and Tauriel were reading.  Tilda had been playing on the rug in front of the fire, dressing Charlotte in her Elven Guard outfit so she could ride Daisy around.

“DA! Thrandool!” She squealed loudly.

“What’s the matter, Little Bean?” Bard turned to look down at her.

She was bleeding, from her mouth.

 _“AI!”_ Thranduil leapt out of his chair and cried out in dismay, as he grabbed his handkerchief and held it to her mouth. Sigrid dropped her knitting, and was instantly by her side, holding her head for the Elf, as he examined her, muttering in Elvish at a rapid pace, as Tauriel and Bain stood by, hovering. In the midst of all this, Tilda proudly held out her hand and showed Bard a bloody front baby tooth.

“Lookee Da! I lo _th_ t another tooth!” She squeaked and giggled in delight.

“Good for you, Til!” Sigrid told her baby sister. “Now remember to put it under your pillow, so Mahal will give you another gold coin for it.”

“Honestly, Bard, I cannot accept this! Must they always lose their baby teeth like this? This cannot be normal! Something must be done! I will not allow this!”

Thranduil turned to his husband in outrage, but Bard was standing very still; his face took on a weird shade.

“Da?” Sigrid inquired.

“Bard? _Meleth nîn,_ are you all right?”

“I think Da looks a little green…” Bain said.

Sigrid giggled covering her mouth, and looked at Tauriel, who was confused.

“Are you well, Bard?” the redhead asked him.

Tilda asked, “Da? Are you gonna throw up?”

“Bard?” Thranduil watched his husband, who clapped his hand over his mouth and dashed from the room.

Bain sighed and rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

 

“ _Hervenn nîn,_ I do not understand how you can be sick at the sight of blood! You are a King! What are you going to when you need to fight? All Kings must deal with blood…”

“Thranduil, if you don’t stop saying that word…” Bard groaned, over the basin.

“I am sorry. Can I get you something?”

“Bring me some wine to wash out my mouth. And hand me my datun.** And go make sure Tilda’s all cleaned up; I don’t want to do this again.”

Thranduil got Bard his wine, and his chewing stick, to clean his teeth. “Sigrid is taking care of our youngest. She seems used to this sort of thing.”

“She would be.” He groaned again, and grabbed his middle, as it cramped. Oh, bloody f-“

“Bard! You will mind your language near the children!" Thranduil hissed at his husband.

“Sorry. You’re right.” Bard rubbed his stomach and moaned. “My wife always took care of things like this.  When she left us, at least Sigrid was old enough to handle things, or go get Hilda.  Mattie loved to tease me about it, but at least she was kind enough to hide her courses from me. I nearly fainted when Sigrid started hers…”

“Courses? What are ‘courses’?”

“You know… _'_ _Courses.'_ ” Bard said.

“No, Bard, I do not know.”

“Are you serious? You’re kidding, right?” Bard looked at Thranduil intensely for a few moments. “Ulmo’s balls… You really don’t know, do you?”

“What am I supposed to know?”

 _“Oh, shit.”_ Bard looked alarmed. “Look, go get Tauriel and Sigrid, and bring them in our room. If you're going to be looking after my teenaged daughter, there are a few things you really need to know…”

Bard went into their room, and pulled the fireplace chairs over to face one side of the bed.

His husband, and their oldest daughters quickly made their appearance. “Here, Thranduil, sit down, and you girls can sit on the bed please.” He took one of the chairs, and waited until everyone is seated.

“What’s wrong, Da?” asked Sigrid. 

“I’m afraid there is something we need to make Thranduil aware of before you leave. It seems he knows nothing about women’s courses.”

Sigrid’s face reddened. “Da-a!” She whispered loudly. “That’s really private.”

“Tauriel, maybe you can help with this…”Bard gestured his hand in a circular motion, “this... subject.”

“I am afraid I cannot help you, Bard. What are ‘courses?”

Bard gave her a meaningful stare. “You know…” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “That thing that women get once a month?”

Sigrid covered her scarlet face with her hands. “Oh, no…”

Tauriel looked between Bard and Sigrid, puzzled. “I am afraid I do not know, Bard. Is there something wrong?”

“You mean you don’t…” Sigrid was looking at Tauriel, confused, then outraged. “Oh, that’s _so_ not fair!” she wailed.

Bard’s eyes got wide as saucers. “Oh, bloody fuck…”

“DA! Language! How in the world do you expect Bain to not curse when he hears it from _you_ twenty times a day!” Sigrid reprimanded.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Bard looked at this oldest daughter severely. “I’m still your father, you know.”

“If you use language like that around the younger ones, I _bloody will_ talk to you like that!”

“Don’t say ‘bloody!’”

“Well, you did!”

“Well, yes, I did but…” he wagged his finger at her. “Don’t _you_ say it!"

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Da, that doesn’t make _any_ sense, and it’s not fair…”

“Look I’m your father, and **_I_** _will_ tell you what you are allowed to say and not say!”

“Fine!” Sigrid jutted out her chin. “But if I can’t, YOU can’t!”

Bard pointed his finger again. “Well, you… You… You are _just_ like your mother!”

His daughter crossed her arms. “Thank you,” she said smugly.

“That’s not what I bloody well meant, and you know it!”

“Da-a! You said it again!”

“All right, that’s ENOUGH! Both of you!” Thranduil’s patience had run out. “You,” he pointed at Bard, “stop using foul language.”

“But…” Bard started to protest.

“Ah, ah -“ He put his fingers on Bard’s lips, shutting him up.

“And you, _hênig,_ stop arguing with your father.”

“But he -“ She closed her mouth when he gave her a warning look.

Thranduil looked at Tauriel, desperately. She was no help. She had her hand on her mouth, her eyes scrunched tight, trying not to laugh.

The Elvenking rolled his eyes at his Elven daughter. “Now. Tauriel, since you have no idea what these two are talking about, would you _please_ get Lady Hilda and bring her at once? Please also ask Lord Percy to come and sit with the younger ones, because it looks like we may be here a while. And you two,” he instructed father and daughter, “Kindly refrain from speaking until you both have calmed down. Is that clear?” He was in full King mode and was brooking no argument.

The two had the grace to look sheepish.

Presently, Hilda arrived, demanding, “What the Stars is going on here? Tauriel shows up at our door, practically busting a gut, she’s laughing so hard, and then she says you two were arguing? Why do **_I_** have to settle an argument?”

Thranduil stood, nodding his head, “Greetings, Lady Hilda, and fear not. You will not be expected to try to settle as foolish an argument as the one they were having.” He put his hands on his hips and gave Bard and Sigrid a stern look. “Will she?”

“No.” Sigrid said, looking down.

“Bard?”

Bard made a face, “No. Sorry, Hil. Actually, we do need you, because a... sensitive subject has come up. Thranduil, and apparently Tauriel, need to be educated on matters of human women of childbearing age. Sigrid is feeling a bit shy about it, and if you would be so kind as to…” he waved his hands in the air.

“What in blazes are you...?   _Ohhhhh….”_ Hilda’s widened. “You mean Elves don’t…” She glared at Tauriel. “You've _got_ to be kidding!"

”I know, right?” Sigrid gave her sister a _look._

“Apparently not. And, since Thranduil has a breakdown when Tilda loses her teeth, I figured he'd faint outright if he suddenly came across-“

“I would not faint.” Thranduil said with dignity. “I _never_ faint.”

Bard raised his eyebrows at him, “Really? What about when -“

“Ahem!” Thranduil cleared his throat. “Lady Hilda, if you could please explain…”

“Fine.” Hilda rolled her eyes and sighed. “If it falls to me, then let’s be done with it.” She walked over and took Thranduil’s chair, and sat down. “You can get one from the other room, and be quick about it.”

“You can have mine, Thranduil, I’ll just be outsi-“ Bard jumped up quickly and tried to exit the room.

“Sit right back down, young man! You’re _not_ leaving this room!” She told Bard severely. Then she looked at Thranduil. “If I sent that one to get a chair," she pointing to Bard,  "he’d run for the hills. If you’d please go get yourself one, I’d appreciate it.”

Thranduil bowed and kissed her hand. “You are a savvy and resourceful woman, My Lady.” He grinned at her, and went.

Sigrid got up to follow the Elvenking.

“And where do you think you’re going, Missy?”

“But Auntie Hil…” Sigrid whined. 

“You’re going to be a Healer, aren’t you? This is the stuff you’re going to be dealing with, so you’d better get used to it. Now, get back here, and sit your _bloody arse_ down!” She ordered the young girl.

That did it.  Poor Tauriel couldn’t hold it in anymore.  She sputtered, then burst out laughing, and flopped sideways on the bed, holding her stomach.

Thranduil looked at the group of people at the bed, and shook his head.  He sighed, raised his eyes to the heavens and said a quick prayer for strength, and went to get the _fucking_ chair.

 

So, Hilda explained the ‘facts of life’ and after, she and Sigrid took a mumbling Tauriel, (who was no longer laughing), out of the room. “Percy can get the kids ready for bed, and we’ll talk this one down from her ledge.” She shook her head in sympathy. “You’ve got your hands full, Bard.” And shut the door behind her.

”Are you all right, love?”

Thranduil sat in his chair, staring straight ahead, and feeling a bit sick.

“Thranduil?”

“I do not think I can ever look at human female in the same light again.” He said, in a thin, faraway voice.  “I do not wish to know this, yet it cannot be unknown, now.”  His eyes still were wide, looking off into space.

“I don’t disagree.” Bard stood up, pulling Thranduil up to stand, and kissed him. “Come on, let’s tuck the children in, and call it a night.” Taking him by the hand, he led his dazed husband from the room.

Once the kids were kissed, the fires banked and the lamps turned down, Thranduil lay on the bed, his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the ceiling. “I love your daughters, you know that, do you not?”

Bard, turning on his side toward him, kissing his shoulder. “I do know that. And they are _our_ daughters, now; just as Bain is _our_ son.”

Thranduil smiled at him. “And Tauriel and Legolas are our children, as well.”

Bard smiled at him. “Are you feeling any better? Are you still glad you have human daughters?”

The smile left Thranduil’s face. “Yes, I am, but I had no idea they were so... different than Elven children, Bard. I mean, I knew, but...  I still cannot understand how Tilda loses teeth!  That does not seem right to me, no matter what you say.”

“Thranduil...” Bard rolled his eyes.

“And now, there is this...  with Sigrid.  I understand what  Hilda has told me about the females, but I just… I cannot believe it!  No wonder Sigrid and Hilda looked angry and jealous of Tauriel! It seems a cruel joke to curse your females with such a thing!” 

“Believe me, most women agree with you.  Mattie would say that all the time.  But this can’t be a brand-new concept to you.  Think about it, love: you breed horses, and other animals. Their females go into seasons, right?” 

Thranduil looked at Bard and said sharply,  “Our daughter is NOT a horse!  How could you _**think**_ to compare her with one!” He huffed piously and stared back up at the ceiling.

“I know she’s not, but it’s along the same principle.  It isn’t like you’ve never had experience with these things. You have a breeding plan for your horses and your Elk don’t you? And your hunting dogs?"

“Well, yes..."

“And you have to keep track of when they're in season to mate them?”

Thranduil considered this. “Yes, we do. But humans, especially Sigrid-“

“Sigrid’s body works on that same principle, but you’re right. It’s different, in that she can choose who to -“

“Bard!” Thranduil shuddered. It was all a bit too much for him. “I cannot bear the thought of our _children_ doing that…”

“Good point. I’m not ready to think about it, either.”

They lay there quietly in the dark for several moments, trying to think about something else. After a while, Bard traced his fingers along the Elvenking’s chest, in slow circles, then down.

He kissed Thranduil’s chest, “Come on, love. Let’s take your mind off of things, shall we?”

“You are serious?  Bard!” Thranduil looked at him incredulously.  “I cannot get these…these… _images_ out of my mind, and you expect me to want to have sex?  And to even think of our Sigrid having sex...”

“Stop saying that!” Bard turned pale, and smacked his arm.

“But she will, someday!”  Thranduil waved his arms around. “How can I forget that? She will be -“

“Well, _**not**_ _**now**_ , she won’t!   _Shit, Thranduil!_   Thanks a -“ he smacked Thranduil’s arm again, “for putting **_those_** images in my head…”

 _“Baw! No dhínen!”_ Thranduil hissed. _“_ Will you _please_ watch your mouth!”

Bard sighed, and got up to pour them each a glass of wine. The strong stuff.

“Here.” He crawled back in bed, and they sat up and drank.

“Being the father of human daughters is much more difficult than sons.” Thranduil observed.

“You have no idea.” Bard said, emptying his glass.

“I do now, do I not?”

The Bowman entwined their fingers, and laid his head against his husband’s shoulder. “You’re right. You’re stuck with us, warts and all.”

“I just had no idea of all that comes with it.” Thranduil marveled. "I had caregivers who took care of much of the distasteful tasks of parenting, but even so, there is so much to human children that I simply do not understand."

"Try not to think about it, love."  Bard soothed.

They sat there, trying to relax, and sipped their wine.

Then a terrible thought struck the Elvenking. He froze, horrified, and sat up straighter.  “Bard? We keep track of when our mares are in season - does this  mean _**I** have to keep track of Sigrid’s cycles,_ now?  Or Tilda’s when she starts?” He put his hand on his forehead, and started to panic. “I do not think I can...  Please do not make me do this!”

Bard tried to hide his smile.  “No, love; I promise you, you don’t have to do that.  Sigrid keeps track on a paper that Hilda gives her, and for the most part, I have very little to do with it. It's her job to take care of it, and unless she gets cramps, I don’t even know it’s happening.  While they are in your Palace, Sigrid will seek out Hilda, or a Healer.”

The Elvenking let out a long, relieved breath. “More wine please. In fact, please get the pitcher and bring it here.”

Bard kissed him on the cheek. “Sure thing. Poor _Ada_ seems to be having a rough night.”

“Yes, _Ada_ certainly is, now fill this up and quickly.”  When Bard gave him another cup full, he drank the whole thing in one long pull. Then held the goblet out to Bard for another.  Looking skeptical, Bard refilled it, and he drank it again.  This time, instead of holding out his cup, he just held out his hand for the pitcher. “Here. Give it to me."

 After filling his cup again, he set it on his bedside table.  "I have not been this nervous since Mírelen gave birth.” 

“You mean, when the King, who never faints, fainted?”

“I distinctly remember forgetting that.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Bard gave him a sarcastic smile.

Thranduil drank another cup.

“Easy there, love!  It’s not that serious, really.”  Bard warned.

“It is to _me_! Have you _any_ idea how upset I would have been, had I been ‘surprised’ with this?"

Bard sympathized. “Thranduil, I doubt you would even be aware of it. But you still need to understand what happens. You have humans in your life, now…”

“Well, I do not like understanding _this_   _part_! And what are these…these… _cramps_ you speak of?  I certainly need to know about that, do I not?” He was waving his arms around again, spilling his wine, until Bard pried his fingers from the cup, and took it away from him.

“Sometimes during Sigrid’s cycle, her belly pains her. If it gets really bad, she goes to bed with hot cloths on her belly, and drinks willow bark tea…”

“SHE HAS TO BE CONFINED TO HER BED?” Thranduil roared, and shot out of bed. “You mean she _cannot get out of bed? And you do not think I should worry?"_ In a complete state of panic, Thranduil began to babble in rapid stream of Sindarin, as he ran his hand over his face, and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “I-I.  Bard, I do not think -“

Bard got up, turned up the lamp, and rushed over to him, “Thranduil, please. Please calm down. You’re going to wake the children. Now, come back to bed.  You’re just overwhelmed that’s all…”

“Thranduil?” He heard Sigrid’s voice outside the door. “Is everything all right? Da?”

Bard gave his husband a look, then grabbed Thranduil’s robe and threw it at him, and put his own on. “Just a minute, darling. I’ll be right there.”

“Bard!” The Elf hissed. “No! Do not open that -“

Too late.

“Come in, love, we were just talking about you.”

Thranduil looked wide-eyed in terror. “No! We were... Sigrid, it was nothing…”

 Ignoring his mess of an Elvenking, Bard went and sat on the bed, and indicated for her to sit at the foot of the mattress. “I’m sorry to say, your _Ada_ **_was_** shouting, but he didn’t mean it, Darling.  He’s just worried whether he can take good care of you,  and he needs a little reassurance.  Hilda’s speech was a bit too much, and he’s just not used to being around human girls. It rattled him.”

Thranduil gave his Bowman a murderous, embarrassed look, then came to sit beside Bard. “Yes, _hênig,_ I’m afraid I was. When you come and stay with me, I want to take excellent care of you, and all this is very new to me.”

Sigrid giggled. “I know. You nearly had kittens when Tilda lost her tooth. I think it’s sweet.” 

“I was hoping you could reassure him, that you are not on death’s door every month, so we can get some sleep tonight.” Bard smiled at the poor Elf. “I’ve been telling him he won’t even have to know you are on your courses, that this is a matter between you and Hilda, or a Healer if needed, correct?”

“That’s right, Thranduil. It happens to every girl. It’s perfectly natural. There’s only a problem if I don’t have one. It could mean something is wrong, or I’m pregnant –“

Thranduil gasped in horror, and Bard’s face suddenly turned purple.

“- which I _DefinitelyAmNotAndWillNotBeForAVeryVeryVeryLongTime,”_ Sigrid rushed, then tilted her head with a smirk..  “Now would be a good time to take a breath?”

Both Kings exhaled.

She leaned toward Thranduil, and said slowly, “You don’t have to do a thing, I promise."

“But Bard said you have to be confined to your bed! How can I not worry about you? Elves do not have sicknesses, and I am not used to things like this.”

Bard watched, his eldest daughter, impressed, as she scooted up from the bottom of the bed, and moved closer to the Elvenking, to take his hand.

“I don’t know what to tell you about that. I don’t get cramps very often, but if I do, it is all right. Thranduil, I can’t promise that I’ll never get sick, or Bain, or Tilda won't.  I am what I am: a human girl. It’s the way things are. I know you’ll do your very best to look after us, and that’s all you or anybody can do.”

Thranduil squeezed her hand and smiled at her. “Your Da is correct about you. You are very grown up.”

Sigrid gave him a reassuring smile. “I tell Da I was born old. And I’m glad you and Da are together. You make him smile. You changed all our lives, we’re happy, too. My Mam would like that.”

Bard swallowed hard, as he watched his new husband gather their daughter up in his arms and hold her, kissing her hair. “I am growing to love you children more and more every day. You make me very glad, too. And you make Tauriel’s life better, as well. Thank you, _Iellig._ I feel much comforted.”

Sigrid sat up again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, _hênig.”_

“What does _Ada_ mean? And _hênig?”_

“Well, _Adar_ means ‘father,’ and _Ada_ means ‘Da’ in our language. _Hên_ means ‘child,’ and _‘hênig’_ means ‘my child.’’

The young girl smiled. “I like your language. _Ada_ sounds nice. Sometimes Thranduil can be a mouthful. It would certainly be easier for Tilda to say. It’s cute, though, when she calls you ‘Thrandool.’”

The Elf chuckled. “Yes, it is. It is endearing.’

“Would it be all right with you if… I mean Tauriel calls you _Ada,_ but she’s your daughter, and I know I’m really not…” She looked down, bashful, studying the quilt on the bed.

Thranduil took her chin in his hand, “Please look at me.” She met his gaze. “If you truly wish to think of me as your Ada, I would be deeply honored.” He smiled and kissed her forehead, “I already think of you as a daughter of my heart, just as Tauriel. You, and your brother and sister are very important to me, and I hope you will all come to see me as your father, too.  

“Sigrid, I would never replace your mother in your heart and in your life.  Everything I have heard about her has been remarkable, and I honor her for bringing you childreninto this world. Your Da tells me you are like her. If she was as wonderful and strong as you are, it is easy to understand why she was so cherished.”

Bard’s eyes stung, but he said nothing, afraid to break the spell.

Sigrid threw herself into her _Ada’s_ arms again, and hugged him tight. As she lay her head on his shoulder, her eyes met with Bard’s and they exchanged a smile.

“Now, _Iellig,_ I believe you need to be getting to bed. Do you want me to walk you?”

“No thanks. I can go by myself.” She still had her head on his shoulder. “What does _Iellig_ mean?”

“’My daughter.’”

Then Bard’s heart swelled to the point of bursting. Sigrid got up, and kissed them both good night, and he walked her to the door, “I love you, my girl.” He hugged her tightly. 

“I love you, too, Da.” She before she went through the door, she called out, “Good night, Ada.”

“Good night, Sigrid. Sleep well.”

Bard closed the door behind her, and locked it. Then he strode toward the Elf, smiling, ripping off his robe, then straddling the Elvenking, and laid a hard, plundering kiss on his mouth, pulling the robe down off his shoulders and untying the middle. “Get this thing off, because I am going to have you. Now.”

They both got naked and in the middle of their bed in seconds. Kissing and fondling each other hungrily, they were completely aroused in no time. With savage force, Bard flipped Thranduil onto his stomach and, with oiled fingers, was stroking him inside, stretching him, biting him, and loving all the noises he was bringing out in his Elvenking.

He sat back on his knees as Thranduil writhed, moaning and begging. _“Gin iallon, Bard. Den ídhron …”_ He pushed back on Bard’s fingers and cried out, when Bard found his prostate and began to massage it in circles, running his other hand over Thranduil’s lean, beautiful back, massaging up and down his spine.

Thranduil lowered his head into his arms and panted and moaned as the touches made him tremble.

Then Bard removed his fingers and oiled himself, stroking his thick length, and moaning as he became rock hard.

 _“Nestago den!”_ Thranduil rasped, rubbing against his cock, _“Puitho nin, Bard!_ I need it.” The Elf begged.

Bard suddenly reached up and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back, until Elf’s back arched beautifully, grunting and begging. The Bowman entered his husband’s heat in one long, slow stroke, causing him to groan, and Thranduil to shake and whimper with pleasure.

He grabbed Thranduil’s hips and pounded into him, and the Elf was pounding him back, meeting him with equal force. Bard let out a long, feral growl, then throwing himself on Thranduil’s back, forcing him to lie almost flat, then worked his oiled hand underneath to grab his cock, and manhandled it, matching Bard’s strokes, and playing with its head. Thranduil grabbed the headboard and brought himself up, crying out and gasping, begging for more.

The Bowman pulled Thranduil up to straddle his thighs, holding him tightly against him, and began to fuck him even faster, with the Elf leaning his head on his shoulder, and grabbing the back of Bard’s thighs, not wanting him to stop, begging him not to stop. As the strokes within him and without were at a frantic pace, Thranduil gave out a long, low moan that went higher and higher, as his pleasure did. When he came, he couldn’t make a sound at all, because his body had tensed so much, he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was close his eyes tight, and drown in the feeling of it all, as, behind his eyelids, stars appeared. He could feel it down to the tips of his fingers and to his toes. He came with his whole body, and could hear Bard’s cry as he shared in it.

As soon as he ccould take a breath, it was good that he did, because he felt Bard’s climax rising in him, too. Again, his breath caught, as Bard went over the edge, and again, he couldn’t make a sound. Again, he saw the stars. It was so good, he felt tears escape his eyes and roll down his face, he still hung on for dear life.

When they finally worked through the wonderful aftershocks, and slowed down, they both flopped down on the bed. Bard lay on top of him for a little while, until he was able to leave the warmth of Thranduil’s body and roll over onto his back, and wheeze. Thranduil turned his head to face the Bowman, on his stomach, and smiled at him, panting too.

“We are always finding new ways to please each other, _Hervenn nîn.”_

“I don’t ever want stop.” Bard whispered.

After getting up and washing off, they cuddled back in bed, and lay quietly, waiting for sleep to take them.

“Bard?”

“What, love?”

“I am very, _very_ glad you are not a human woman.”

Bard chuckled and drew his husband closer to him, burying his nose into the back of his neck. “Go to sleep, you silly Elf.” Then he added. “I’m very glad I’m not a woman, either.” He lay there, content and relaxed, then bolted upright, and jumped out of bed. “Shit!”

“What is the matter?”

“I forgot about Tilda’s coin from Mahal!”   He went to the dresser without lighting the lamp, and stubbed his foot on it. _“Oh, bloody fuck!”_ He hissed between clenched teeth. “I’m still not used to this room!  Shouldn’t I be able to see in the dark now? Shit!”

“For Valar’s sake Bard, give it to me; you will wake the dead with your clatter. Just go back to bed and be very quiet.”

He swore under his breath, and got back under the covers.

He listened for the door to the girls’ room to open, then close again after a few minutes.

When Thranduil silently entered, he asked, “Did it go okay?”

“I had to pull her covers up, but she did not wake up. It was difficult to find the tooth she left; we need to have her wrap it up in something, next time - I felt ridiculous, feeling around for it. Perhaps I will give her one of my kerchiefs for that purpose.”

“You've only got dozens of those things. Have you got the tooth?” Bard asked him.

The Elvenking held it in his palm triumphantly. When Bard reached for it, Thranduil snatched his hand back. “No. This is mine, and I am keeping it.”

Bard giggled. “Get in here, _Ada.”_ He threw back the covers and invited him in.  First, Thranduil put his _Tithen Pen’s_ tooth, carefully wrapped, in a box with some other personal things. Then, with a serene smile on his face, pulled off his robe and snuggled with his husband.

“I love you, Bard.”

_“Gi melin, Thranduil.”_

They lay there for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of each other’s arms.

“Bard?”

“Mmmm?” A muffled, sleepy voice answered.

“You really must stop your swearing, you know.”

“Fuck off.” Bard mumbled, before drifting off.

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Ai!_ – Eek!  
_hênig_ – my child  
_tithen pen_ – little one  
_Dagornaw_ – means literally “Battle Plan.” In Westron, it is called “Stratagem” which is basically Chess.  
_Tûramin_ – I win  
_Oblet-haran_ – Check Mate (literally means “To imprison the king.”)  
_Baw! No dhínen!_ \- Don’t! Be quiet!  
_Iellig_ – My daughter  
_Gin iallon, Bard_ – I beg of you, Bard  
_Den ídhron_ – I want it  
_Nestago den_ – Put it in  
_Puitho nin_ – Fuck me  
_Meleth nîn_ – My love  
_Hervenn nîn_ – My husband

 

NOTES:  
*- The earliest known game of chess goes back to the 6th century in India, although Persia, after it was conquered by the Arabs, developed it into the version we know today. Some historians believe that the Chinese had a part in this as well. Either way, the game is ancient, so I see no reason why Middle Earth wouldn’t have its own. Besides, it’s my fantasy verse, and I can do what I want, so there.

**- A Datun is a stick used to clean teeth, used before the invention of toothbrushes. They could be made from many different aromatic trees, and were used for thousands of years, before toothbrushes were invented, in the 1500’s, according to the Internet (and, if it’s on the ‘Net, you know it’s true…). In Ancient England, one of twigs used were from the Apple tree, so that is what I decided Bard and his family use.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot going one in this chapter!
> 
> Preparations to leave for the Woodland Realm are completed, fun is had at the going-away Feast, and they hit a bit of a snag during the trip.
> 
> A new character, Rhian, makes her appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I haven't read it before now, but [1972](https://archiveofourown.org/series/246586) by one of my favorite Barduil authors, [Star_Named_Andy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_named_andy/pseuds/star_named_andy). I love it!

***TRIGGER WARNING*** Mention of Domestic Violence/Rape/Gruesome Execution.

 

 

 

On the day before the Feast, all the final decisions and arrangements had been made, and the wagons would be packed the following morning. People were scurrying around, packing and cleaning the tents, readying them to be taken down two days from now.

~o0o~

Bard and Thranduil had met with Hilda yesterday to confirm all the final preparations. The biggest challenge was keeping the children happy and quiet for such a long journey.

“I know that it would be good for the children’s spirits to pass the time singing songs, but it would be safer if they did not, Lady Hilda. I have scoured the area as thoroughly as possible, but I do not wish to encourage trouble. It would be a simple solution to put up silencing spells on the wagons, but that could be dangerous if something goes wrong. We need to be able to hear each other, and the passengers, in order to protect you.”

“Aye, I understand that, and you’re right. I’ll tell Bronwyn to have them tell stories to the children, or something.” Then she had an idea. “What if your Elves tell the children stories? It might hold their attention, meeting someone they don’t know, hearing things they’ve never heard of, and, if they get bored, maybe your men can rotate in and out of the wagons?”

Thranduil considered this. “It might work. I’ll trust you to speak with Bronwyn and find ways to keep the children calm. It will be dangerous if they jump around, and possibly fall out. I must warn you: if it becomes necessary, I will not hesitate to put them under a sleeping spell, if they get cannot settle down. I want to avoid this, but their safety is more important.”

“I’ll see to it. And we’ll do our best. We all know how the little ones are, so if you have to, do it. Now,” she looked at the next item. “The Healer’s wagons. Will the sick be sleeping as well?”

“Ermon, my Chief Healer will be staying here, to attend to those too ill to travel, but his wife, Elénaril will be coming to the Palace, and I have every confidence in her. Have you met her?”

“Only once, and just to be introduced.” Hilda replied. “But your word is good enough.”

Bard asked, “How are the pregnant women? Especially the one that’s almost due to give birth?”

“You mean Rhian?” Hilda shook her head sadly. “As far as we know, she’s doing as well as can be hoped, but she’s in such poor spirits, and can barely stand it, when the midwife takes a look at her. She’s still like Tilda was right after the battle. Little ones have a way of bouncing back, but this young thing is just lost. We’re making sure she gets what she needs, as far as food and rest, but, aside from that…” To Thranduil, she said, “The midwife says she’s got little bit to go yet, but we can’t wait much longer to leave.”

Thranduil asked Bard, “Have you visited her?”

Regretfully, Bard said. “I’m sorry, I haven’t. We had the talks at Erebor, and our trip to the Realm, then…” He looked stricken. “I screwed up.”

Hilda would hear none of it. “Don’t feel bad. If I thought she needed you, I would’ve marched you over there myself. In any case, a visit from you would’ve done more harm than good. She can’t take too many people, and she’s terrified of most men.” She looked at Thranduil. “The only ones that can go near her, are Old Ben, and that guard of yours. He makes a point to come and visit her when he’s off duty.”

Bard and Thranduil looked at each other, curious. “Daeron?” Bard asked.

“It must be him, because Turamarth is still learning Westron." Thranduil said. 

"Is that a problem?" Hilda wondered, "I thought he might be good for her." 

Bard shrugged. “It’s fine with me.  Is he helping her?"

“I think so. She doesn’t get upset, when he comes. She feels comfortable with him, and he's careful with her. She can’t stand to be touched; even the midwife has difficulty.”

“Does Daeron care for her?” Bard was concerned. “It would be a bit soon after losing her husband, don’t you think?”

“I can’t say whether he does. He hasn’t said or done anything like that.” Hilda winced. “But I’ll tell you about that husband of hers. He only married her because her father had money. And he spent more time in the pubs, drinking away his pay, than he did with her.” She looked severe. “I’ve seen bruises on her, too. She was covered in them, when we first came here.

“ _Nae, nirnaeth!”_ Thranduil’s eyes went wide. “Surely not!”

“Aye, it’s so. I’ve known Rhian since she was small. Her father was a friend of the Master, and I never liked him.  She was always a bit shy, but very sweet.  To end up with a monster like that… Hilda shook her head, sadly. "She’s only nineteen; too young for all of this.”

Bard asked. “The Healers know about all this, right?”

“I made sure they knew what was what. She didn’t want me to tell them, she felt that ashamed.”

Thranduil felt murderous. “Since when should a woman feel ashamed for being beaten?”

“I don’t understand it myself, but the midwife said that that horse’s arse didn’t just beat her body, he beat her soul, too.  The girl doesn’t have the will to care about anything, anymore. It happens with things like that. The men beat them down to the point they're afraid to do anything to defend themselves. Hannah told me it was a miracle the baby was still healthy. But I’ll tell you, no one mourns him.” She looked at both of their stricken faces. “Don’t you worry, we’re all looking after her, and everyone is as gentle as they can be with her.”

Bard looked at his husband again, and shook his head. “This is not what a real man does. I agree with you, Hil: no one should mourn that bastard.”

 

The rest of the day passed quickly, as there was much to occupy the two Kings. They still made time for family that evening, as it would be the last one for a long while.

All the children competed for time with Tauriel; they would miss her over the winter. The adults were evasive when asked why Tauriel couldn’t come with them, but a meaningful look from their Da, quelled their curiosity. The Elf braided Sigrid’s long hair prettily, then did the same for Tilda, while they whispered and giggled. Then she and Bain played a game of Stratagem, while the other’s looked on. Bain was catching on to the game faster than Bard was.

Once the children were tucked into bed, Bard and Thranduil went to their room and made the most of their time together; this time, it was slow, sweet and very tender. They fell asleep with Bard on his side, holding Thranduil to his chest, as they liked to do, and the Elvenking reveled in the warmth and security of his husband’s strong arms, as he drifted off.

 

The next day, the day of the Feast, dawned grey and overcast. Despite all there was to do, Thranduil delegated duties and cleared his afternoon schedule, while he waited in the study.

“You wish to see me?”

“Yes, Tauriel, please come in. Did you have your midday meal yet?”

When she shook her head, he sent for Galion to see about some food for them, then invited her to sit with him before the fire. He poured her some juice and they sat.

“How are you?” He asked his foster-daughter.

“I am fine.” She didn’t look fine.

“Please,” He took her hand. “I can imagine how hard this must be. I know you will miss the children terribly, and I am concerned about you.”

“I shall miss you, as well. And Lady Hilda.” Tauriel tried to make light of things.

Thranduil was not fooled. “Will you be all right?”

Tauriel looked into the fire. “I shall try my best to be.”

“I know you will, _Gwinïg.”_ He tilted his head, slightly, as he studied her. “Do you miss Kili?”

“Yes. I do not understand it, _Ada!_  How can I miss someone I only knew for a few weeks? He was hardly in my life at all, and now he’s gone!”

“We do not choose these things, _Iellig_ , love chooses us. I am proud of you, because of it.”

She looked at Thranduil in surprise. “I do not understand.”

“I was scathing in my speech to you about him and your feelings for him, and it was wrong of me. I said some terrible things to you; unforgivable things, and my apology is terribly inadequate, but it is all I have.  What makes me proud of you, Tauriel, is when you were on Ravenhill, you had the courage to say goodbye to him. You had the strength to let him go, yet carry him in your heart. You did something that I could not, until recently, and I admire you for it.”

She looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. “I am sad he died, but I do not want to go through my whole life feeling empty. Sometimes I feel angry, _Ada_. I never had a chance to be with him, or anyone! I will never marry, or have children. I have always wanted those things, and sometimes I feel like my heart betrayed me and it seems...cruel."

He looked at her with pity. Tauriel was never one to whine or shake her fist at the sky. She put her head down and got on with things, saying little, much like Bard did, and it was another quality he admired, in both of them.  She was right; her situation _was_ terribly unfair, and he had no words to comfort her. He pulled his chair closer, and squeezed her hand.

“Bard has arranged for you to visit Erebor several times over the winter, provided you leave him properly guarded. I hope that will help your distress, _hênig_.”

Thranduil lifted her chin with his fingers, and continued. “You have been made a Friend to the Dwarves and that is no small honor. This is another reason I am very proud of you. You have accomplished something that few Elves have ever done, and this is another way that your actions have helped the Northern Kingdoms. You will help relations between all Elves and Dwarves.”

“I never thought about it in that light.”

“I know you do not, and I am glad of it. I want you to know, I will not exploit this; it would be inappropriate, and unfair to you. Your friendship should be relaxed and natural, and devoid of any politics.  I plan to speak to King Dáin about this when next I see him. Bard and I will not allow you to be put into the position of political pawn, and I believe the King Under the Mountain will agree to protect you in this.  Friendship is all you need to worry about; just enjoy it, Tauriel.”

Tauriel looked relieved, and smiled.

Thranduil changed the subject. _“Gwinïg,_ I am sad for your pain, and I pray the Valar will help you find a way through your grief, and perhaps find purpose, beyond looking after the heirs of Dale. I know that I was granted a second chance to love and marry, because of things I had accomplished for the good of Middle Earth. This is why I was able to marry Bard. I am earnestly beseeching the Valar on your behalf to help you find the same for yourself.”

She looked defeated. “Elves only love once, so I have always been told.”

“That is the accepted teaching, but your circumstances are a bit different, and if there is any way to help you, I will do my utmost. I have not received an answer yet, and with your permission, I would like to write to Lord Elrond, and see if he has any insight in this matter.

Tauriel considered this, then looked at him, curious. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, _Iellig_.”

“Were you in love with Legolas’s mother? Please do not be angry; I know almost nothing about her.”

“I am not angry. I can understand why you think this, but that is not your fault.” He looked into the fire, lost in memories. “I loved Legolas’s mother with all my heart. I still love her and miss her, in the same way that Bard still loves and misses his wife. But she and the Valar made it possible for me to have room in my heart for Bard, so I could find happiness again. I love him very much, and he brings me joy.”

Thranduil sighed. “I never had the courage to face Queen Mírelen’s death. I managed to keep from fading from the grief – I had been very afraid of that - but when I was stronger, I still ran from it. I was a terrible father to you and Legolas.” He squeezed her hand again, his voice trembling. “It has been my biggest regret, _Gwinïg_ , pushing you both away. I loved you both dearly, but I could not get past my own grief to let you feel loved.” His voice broke. “I am so very sorry.”

Tauriel reached for his other hand and held both of them. “I understand, Ada, and I forgive you.”

Thranduil’s eyes filled. “Tauriel, I can never make up for the years we lost, _Iellig_.  I am happy I have a chance to find joy with Bard’s children. It is a blessing I do not deserve.  While I cannot get those years back when you were a little girl, I would like very much to be a real _Adar_ to you now, and forever, if you will let me.”

Suddenly Tauriel was in his arms, holding him tight around his waist, while he stroked her hair and murmured comforting words to her in Sindarin.

Bard opened the door to ask him something, but just grinned, and tiptoed out.

Using his handkerchief to wipe his daughter’s eyes, he asked her, “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, I think I will, _Ada._ Not just this winter, but always.”

He kissed her head. “I am glad.” And hugged his oldest daughter some more.

 

***************

 

The wagons were loaded, ready for the trip out early the following morning and the people of Dale, the Elves, and some Dwarves gathered for a celebration.

They all had taken time to say farewell to and bury their dead; the mourning will go on for a long time. But, tonight, the combined Free Peoples of the North, wanted to acknowledge and celebrate LIFE. 

Bard stood on a table, and gave a short speech, thanking his people for how hard they were working to give them all a better future. He toasted, each in turn, the Elves and the Dwarves, and encouraged his people to set aside any differences to make Dale a peaceful and prosperous place. Then, he held a moment of silence for those who are gone from their midst.

The food was wonderful, wine was brought from Thranduil’s Kingdom, and Erebor brought plenty of ale, to contribute to the celebration. Music was playing, and they all were dancing, each race showing the others some of their steps. Thranduil and Bard danced with the Tauriel and the children, and with each other, smiling.

Later on, Bard brought out the Stratagem board, happily announcing to his children that there was, in fact someone who could beat Thranduil at the game. He had set it up in a corner, away from the fray, and sat his husband down. Then Feren walked up, and sat opposite him. The Elvenking’s eyes narrowed.

“Tauriel told me.” Bard said, smugly. “It seems you are not as untouchable as you like to think you are, My King.”

The game had a rather unexpected effect on the rest of the party. Before too long, the King and the Commander found themselves surrounded with a large semi-circle of an audience, captivated. Rumor had spread about the game going on in the corner, and surreptitious bets were placed, and whispered commentary was informing the crowd of the action.

Bard stood to the side, arms crossed, watching intensely. There were several in Dale who were familiar with the game. He didn’t dare bet against his Elf, but he was really hoping Feren would put him in his place. Tauriel came up beside him, to see how the game was progressing. She had just taken Sigrid and Bain to bed, and checked on Tilda, who had fallen asleep much earlier and was carried out in Bard’s arms to be put down. The children had all been taken home by their mothers, or to the Orphan’s Tent, with escorts.

“What is happening?” She whispered to him.

“It’s close. Thanks for telling me Feren can beat him. My husband needs to be taken down a peg or two.”

Percy walked over. “I was thinking we should have this game to help with morale over the winter. Other games too.”

“I like that idea. I’ll get some from the Realm and bring them back with me.”

“Good thinking. Maybe you could ask the Elves for more games to teach us. I wonder if they have playing cards or Draughts. We could set up tournaments.”

“Do that. I’ll bring back what I can. I want to also find a space to set up for weapons training. We’ll be stuck inside for days at a time, and the men will need to burn off energy, so see what can be done about that.”

Their attention turned back to the game. Both elves were staring at the board, deep in concentration. Thranduil picked up a piece and took out Feren’s queen, causing some of the men to groan, and the whispered commentary continued. Feren took out a rook, and there were more oohs and aahs, and curses.

Thranduil moved, but took nothing. With an enigmatic smile, Feren moved his Wizard and said, “Oblet-haran!” Thranduil smiled, turned his king on its side, and graciously clasped forearms with his Commander, and congratulated him, and there was applause all around.

Bard stepped up to congratulate Feren. “Well played, Feren. I was beginning to think this Elf was unbeatable.”

Feren clasped arms with Bard and smiled. “Please do not be too hard on him. He has been playing for thousands of years. King Oropher taught us when we were young, and we spent many an evening playing. It is a good way to pass the time when we are out in the field.”

The Bowman shook his head, “We both know he enjoys a challenge. It also provided entertainment for my people. Hopefully, you and I play can a game or two this winter, so I might not be easy prey when Thranduil returns in the spring.” His smile faded. “It would certainly help make the time go faster.”

“I am sorry you will be separated from your family.”

“As will you. It’s unavoidable. How are little Alis and Dafina?”

Feren’s eyes lit up. “They’re excited about the trip, but it took quite some time to convince them they must ride in a caravan, and not on horseback.”

At this Bard had to laugh. “My youngest expected to ride at the head of the caravan on your King’s horse. She didn’t take it well, either. I’m sure your wife will love those little girls. What’s the word from Hilda, so far?”

“It will be decided only after the girls meet Glélindë, and they spend some time with her. If the girls and Gruffudd think they could get along well, it should be fine. I do not doubt that Lady Hilda will give her all the same lectures she gave me, and will be vigilant.”

Bard clasped his arm again, “I think things will work out for you and your wife. They’re lovely little girls, and Gruffudd is a good man. Having him with you, will aid their transition, trust me. I see several of the Elves have already taken an interest in the children, and I’m glad to see it.”

Soon, the party was breaking up, and everyone went back to their temporary homes. There was much to do on the morrow, and they all needed an early start.

 

***************

 

When Thranduil and Bard made their way back to their wing, they quietly checked on the children. The Elf pulled up Tilda’s covers again, and kissed her on the forehead. He did the same for Sigrid, who sat up sleepily and hugged them both, before hunkering down and going back to sleep.

Bain was spread-eagled, face down, on the bed, so, Bard gently took the book he was reading, closed it and set it on the bedside table. He tucked his leg back under the blankets, and brushing his black bangs off his forehead, kissed his forehead, and quietly shut his door.

Thranduil closed their own bedroom door behind them, thoughtfully. “I have not done things like this since Legolas and Tauriel were small. I had forgotten how much I enjoy seeing children asleep.”

Bard, over at the bed, taking off his clothes, said, “Everybody does. They’re always so well-behaved when they’re asleep. Don’t worry - you’ll get plenty of practice for the next long while.” Then he sat down, his elbows on his knees. “Then it will be my turn to miss it.”

The Elvenking went over to him and knelt in front of him. “They will be missing you every bit as much, _Meleth nîn._ As will I.” He held Bard’s cheek in his palm.

“I know...”

“And you will write. And I will write, too.” He smiled, “Consider this – you will get plenty of opportunity to practice your penmanship.”

Bard leaned into Thranduil’s hand. “There’s that. Just don’t let my children grow up without me, all right?”

“I will forbid them from growing. I am a powerful Elf, and a King, at that. I shall make an official decree.”

Bard smiled, then he got a bit serious. “Just make sure Tilda stays covered up. She always kicks her blankets off. Bain likes to read at night. He’s like me, and it helps him get to sleep. You’ll probably have to go in and put his lamp out for him. Tilda’s had a few nightmares, but not for a while. If she does, keep an eye on her the next day, because she’s usually very down in the dumps, and needs to be cuddled a lot.

As far as food, they’ve enjoyed everything you have provided so far, but make sure he avoids sage - it gives him a stomach ache.  Sigrid can’t eat strawberries, or she gets a rash, and moldy cheeses gives her headaches, so make sure the kitchens know that.  Bain has a hollow leg, and could eat you under the table, which is fine, so long as it’s good food. Don’t let him go crazy on the desserts and sweets.  And make sure the clean their teeth after every meal, and use the waxed thread between them, to prevent toothaches.

Thranduil sat beside him on the bed, put his arm around Bard’s shoulders, and listened to him prattle on. This was making his husband feel better, so he’d let him go on as long as he needed to. Bard was the best parent he had ever met, and he enjoyed hearing the small things his husband knew about his children.

Thranduil had to swallow a couple of times, as he realized these were things he should have known about his own children. He missed his son; most of the time, he kept busy enough, but it would slam painfully into him, every now and again.

“What’s wrong, love? Am I overwhelming you?”

Thranduil snapped out of his reverie. “Oh, no. You are fine. I was just thinking of Legolas.”

Bard leaned against him, and took his hand, entwining their fingers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be going on and on. It’s just that this is hard, I’m nervous.  Not you won’t take care of them, but...”

Thranduil looked at him and forced a smile. “I know, my wonderful Bard. I _want_ to learn things about them, so please do not think you are wasting my time. It is just that… I do not think I ever knew what Legolas or Tauriel’s favorite foods were. A good father, like you, should know those things, and I did not.”

“Hey, hey. Come here.” Bard pulled the Elf to him and held him. “I know you feel guilty, and wish things had been different. It says wonderful things about you, and it tells me how much you want to change it, yeah?”

Thranduil looked into Bard’s hazel eyes, as the Bowman stroked his cheek.

Bard took his face in his hands. “I want you to listen to me, now. You need to stop looking back at things that make you feel bad. You’ve considered all of it, you know where you went wrong, and you know not to do it again. Nothing more can be done, so don’t waste your time with self-flagellation. I want you to spend our time apart, trying to forgive yourself.” Bard grinned. “I’ll practice my penmanship, and you practice letting the past go, is it a deal?”

“I will try, Meleth nîn. I have made much progress with Tauriel, and it makes me feel better. I just don’t know what to do about Legolas. I want to make things right, but I don’t know what to do.”

Bard looked at him, studying him, thoughtfully. “Don’t worry about it now. Even if you did think of a way, no message could get through to Rivendell until the weather clears, am I right?”

Thranduil hadn’t considered this.

“So, you have plenty of time to work on this, and there is no point in worrying for months on end about something you can do nothing about, right? Trust me, you will have your fill of noisy, active children to keep your head from filling up with negatives.” Bard kissed him. “I’m too tired to make love tonight, but I promise, I’ll jump your bones first thing, when we get to our chambers in your Palace.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I look forward to it. I am fatigued myself.”

“Now let’s get to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

They finished undressing, turned down the lamps, and settled in together, with Bard’s head on Thranduil’s shoulder, draped across him. As relaxed as they were, he could sense his Bowman’s restlessness. He ran his hair through his black curls slowly, and massaged the arm across his chest. “Are you well, Bard?”

“I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time falling asleep. I get like this sometimes. More times than I’d like to admit. My mind can’t settle down, even though my body is.”

“What did you do before?”

“Suffered, mostly. Drinking some wine or ale sometimes helps, but I’ve done that. When Mattie was alive, she sang to me.”

“That must have been very sweet. A nice memory for you.” He kissed Bard’s hair, and continued with his massaging. “Was she a good singer?”

“I loved her voice, before I even knew her. When I met the girl, who was singing that song, then I really fell in love.”

“That’s lovely. I do not know this story.”

So, Bard told Thranduil about how they met, and how he snatched his wife out from under the Master and her uncle’s devious plans, how their fathers became fast friends, after Mattie's father punched her scheming uncle. Thranduil laughed heartily when he heard some of the lewd pub songs their Fathers had been singing, while drunk at Brand’s kitchen table.

When their laughter died down, Thranduil said, “Settle your head, and close your eyes.”

Then he began to sing to Bard in a low, melodious voice, while rubbing his arm and stroking his hair, until Bard’s breathing became deep and even. He kissed his husband’s hair, and lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think about his son, and how much he missed him.

 

***************

 

Morning came, all too soon.

A hearty, hot breakfast was served out in the Great Hall, while in the Royal Wing, breakfast was a quiet, sober affair

Sigrid put herself in charge of all the packing, with Tauriel and the other children helping her. Bard would be too sad to do it. By silent agreement, they got their things together when Bard was out checking on other arrangements, so by the time he returned, everyone’s trunks were packed and on one of the wagons.

There was a very tearful goodbye between Tauriel and the children, in Bard’s study.

“I will miss you all, but the winter will pass. We will all write each other, promise?” The Elf was doing her best to put on a brave face, even though a tear was dropping off of her chin. “You will love the Palace. Ada tells me you will be staying in my old rooms and they are very nice.” Tilda, was taking it the hardest. “The time will go by before you know it.” She reached down and picked her up and held her for a long moment.

Then Bain and Sigrid wanted their hugs. “You’re my big sister, now and don’t you forget it! I’ll write to you every chance I get and tell you all about what we’re up to, all right?” the girl said to Tauriel, hugging her tight. “I promise, you won’t miss a thing.” Tauriel kissed her cheek, and said, _“Hannon le, Gwathel. Cuio vae, ar no veren.”_

To Bain, she gave a brief hug. “Make sure you keep up your forms with Daeron, and I want you all to study your lessons, and do your best, do you promise?” She smiled at the boy, “I shall miss you, _Gwador.”_

When she went to Thranduil, he gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair. “I shall be back in the spring, but I shall miss you, Iellig.” He kissed her forehead. _“Cuio vae, Tauriel; raitho an glass.”_

They all wiped their eyes, and went out through the Great Hall, to where things were loading up. The people were gathered around the wagons, saying a long, sad goodbye to their loved ones.  The children, who had all made sure to visit the necessary, were loaded on the wagons, padded with hay and plenty of blankets.  Bronwyn and her helpers divided themselves amongst the wagons for the orphans, and the rest of the children and elderly were with their families.  Hilda made sure that food and snacks were packed for everyone, and the Healers helped to carefully load the infirm. In these wagons, hammocks had been strung, to avoid as much jostling as possible.

Thranduil received last-minute reports from the patrols, early this morning.  There  had been no activity, and no trace of spider's nests.  Extra members of the Elven Guard will be posted in trees lining either side.

 

After they were on their way, Bard said to hid Elf,  “I’m glad Tilda didn’t give you a hard time about riding in the wagon today; I expected a last-ditch effort to change your mind."  He was riding Fínlossen, his white stallion, toward the head of the caravan.

Thranduil grinned. “No, she did not. And she will not; I promised her and her siblings a gift, if they behave themselves.”

 “Ah. You bribed them. What's the gift?"

“That, _Meleth,_ is a secret. In fact, there will be several such gifts for the children, to help them enjoy their time with us.” Thranduil looked smug.

“You _are_ going to spoil them rotten, aren’t you?"  Bard accused him, "They won’t be fit to live with, when they come back in the spring!” 

Thranduil said, seriously, "Bard, if spoiling young children who have lost their home and their loved ones, is the worst crime I ever commit, then I am ready to face judgment, before the Valar.”

Bard considered this, then nodded, “I see your point.  In that case, have at it."

“I thought you might agree.” The Evenking said smugly, and they rode on for a while in comfortable silence.

Things were going smoothly so far. The road was almost frozen, which helped to wagons go a bit more smoothly, with no mud to hinder them. They were two hours into the trip, and the children were settled and content for now. The Healer put several of the injured into a healing sleep, and bundled them up. They would not be woken until well after they are settled in the Palace.

“Hang on, Thranduil. I’ll be right back.” Bard pulled his horse out of formation, and went to check on the children. They were in the first wagon, with several of the older women, who were looking after Rhian. He couldn’t see them, because the covers were fitted on them, but he could hear pretty positive chatter, so that was encouraging.

Daeron was riding beside the wagon, so Bard pulled his horse next to him. “So, how do you feel about looking after my Sea Monsters all winter?”

“I am looking forward to it, My Lord. Despite what their father says about them,” the Elf smirked, “I do not believe they are monsters.”

“Well, if they fooled you, I guess they can fool anybody.” Bard changed the subject. “I hear you’ve made friends with Rhian. How is she?”

Daeron looked alarmed. “My Lord, if that is inappropriate-“

“Rest easy, I’m all for it. The girl has had a rough time, and she needs all the friends she can get. I’m curious though. What made her catch your eye?”

“When we first came to Dale, I saw her trying to carry some water, and I attempted to help her with it; she was with child, and I did not want her to hurt herself. When I saw marks on her wrists, I thought she might have gotten them when she left Laketown, and wanted to take her to the Healing Tent, but she would not go. I tried to examine her myself, but when I touched her, she jumped away, like I had burned her.”

“I don’t understand. Why would she do that?”

“Sire, when I was in Dale before Smaug came, I worked in the Healing House.  There was a woman who had been badly bruised - she was covered in marks, and one eye was swollen shut.  She was also pregnant, which is why they sent her to me - most of my practice there was midwifery.”

”Really?”  Bard was surprised.  

Daren nodded.  “This woman reacted the same way, around men, but I think she trusted me because I was different, snd she was persuaded to let me examine her. I healed her bruises and checked on the child, who was fine -“

“Thank the Stars.”

“She refused to say who had done it - she said she fell down a flight of stairs - but we suspected the husband. He denied it, and so did she. There was nothing more to be done.”

“Oh, Valar… That's despicable.” Bard’s jaw clenched.

“It was much worse than that, I am sad to tell you.”

“Why, what happened?”

“As soon as she was able to be released, her husband came for her, and she went with him. She behaved as if she was ashamed, and was very meek, like she had been the cause of her affliction.”

“I don’t understand that at all. It doesn’t make sense! She could have gotten away from him!”

“My Lord, women who have been treated thus, become prisoners in their own minds. They are enslaved. They think it is their fault.  They tell themselves that their own situation is different than others, who might be beaten, and they become convinced they could never survive if they left.  It becomes logical to them to protect and make excuses for the one who has caused them pain, and it is very difficult for them to be released from their chains.”

“Well, what happened then?”

“King Girion ordered him to bring her to see us frequently to check the child’s progress - and for us to report anything else we find, which seemed to frighten the husband into restraint.  He also had them watched closely.   A couple of months later, shouting and screaming could be heard from their house, and the guards broke in, just in time to see him, in a drunken state, throw her over the second-floor railing.  She never woke up, again, My Lord; her neck was broken.”

“And the child died.”

Daeron looked tormented at the memory. “I took extraordinary measures to save the little girl she carried,” Daeron paused for a moment. “But it was too late.”

Bard swore under his breath. “What happened to the husband?”

“Girion was furious, and had the husband brought before him, who tried to deny what he had done, saying she was clumsy, and fell a great deal. Then the man tried to convince the King that she was at fault, because she would provoke him, until he couldn’t help himself.”

“Bloody fucker!” he seethed, then looked sheepish. "Sorry… This is against everything I stand for! I hope the man was hung or something.”

“King Girion decreed that the husband should be forced to experience all that he inflicted on her. The man showed his true colors as a coward, when he fell to his knees and begged for mercy.” Daeron gave a smug, wry smile. “However, the King was savvy enough to use the man’s own defense against him.”

“How do you mean?”

“When the husband was beseeching the King to spare him, with many tears, I might add, Girion got up from his throne, and bent down to the man and said, ‘But you have provoked me into anger, and I cannot help myself, can I? See what you make me do? This is your fault. I am sure you understand.’”

Bard’s jaw set. “That was a brilliant.  We’re you there?”

“I was... unable to attend, but I was told of it, later.”

”What happened to him?”

“He was stripped down and flogged.  Two lashes for every bruise recorded on his wife’s body, both in the first examination, and when she died. Five for her head wound, and fifteen for her internal wounds.” Daeron paused. “He then received twenty lashes for murdering the innocent babe that was in her belly.  As for the sexual assault -“ Daeron gave Bard a meaningful look.  “I am sure you can imagine what punishment was administered.”

Bard nodded grimly.  “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

“The man was left to bleed to death, and no one was sorry. It was made plain to everyone in Dale that the King would never tolerate such treatment of a woman, and especially an innocent child.”

“Oh, shit… No wonder you’ve taken such an interest in Rhian! This is one of those things that never leaves you, does it?”

Daeron frowned. “No, My Lord, it does not. I am not sorry Rhian's husband died in the destruction of Laketown, for it saved me the trouble of killing him myself.” The Elf looked angry.

“I understand your feelings, but I’m sure you know that things like that must be done lawfully. Had he lived, I would much rather you bring him before me, and I would decide his fate. Although,” he looked at the Guard, “I would’ve let you.”

“My King knows the story, so I have no doubt he would have agreed with you.” Daeron reassured him.

They rode along in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Bard told the Elven guard. “I admire you for doing what you can to help this girl. Does she trust you?”

“Not at first. She is still suffering from shock and depression. She has begun to speak with me a little. Perhaps it is because I am an Elf, and not a human, that makes her feel a bit more comfortable. She is no longer afraid of me, I believe, but she is wary.”

“That’s good news. Has she been examined by the Healers?”

“Only by the midwives, though she gets upset at being handled.  She can not tolerate a male to touch her, not even me, or she panics.  I’m glad to say she has allowed me to be present, during these examinations, so I do an incantation to calm her.” Daeron looked at the King of Dale in consternation. “I suspect, sire, that this girl’s spouse had been forcing himself on her, and this is the cause of her shrinking from every touch.”

“ULMO’S BALLS!” Bard swore, could stop himself.

Sigrid stuck her head out of the back of the covered wagon. “Da? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry love. Everything’s fine; Daeron was just telling me a bit of a story. Make sure everyone in there knows nothing’s wrong.”

“All right, but watch your language! We have children here!” Sigrid head disappeared.

Daeron smirked at Bard. “I like your daughter very much.”

“Aye, between Sigrid and Hilda, they keep me on the straight and narrow. I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Thank you for telling me this, Daeron."   He spurred his horse and went back up to join his husband and the head of the caravan.

Thranduil looked over at him, from his black stallion. “Is everything all right? I heard you shout, but there is nothing in the trees that tells me danger is near.”

“It was nothing like that. Daeron was telling me of Rhian. Seems there is more to her injuries than we heard. He also told me about the man Girion had flogged to death for doing the same thing.”

Thranduil’s mouth was in a grim line. “I remember hearing of it.  I can tell you, that was a difficult time for Daeron.  I can also tell you, Girion sentence was just.  He had no tolerance for the abuse of women and children, and his punishments were severe."

“And I plan on doing the same thing, should that ever occur in my Kingdom.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to believe a man could do that...”

“That is because you are a good Man, Bard.”

“All I can think about, is how easily that could be Sigrid.”

"Sigrid would never be in that situation, _Meleth nîn.”_  Thranduil smiled. “ For the rest of her life, she will be surrounded by armed Guards.”

”True.” Bard admitted.  “But that won’t help every other woman and child in that situation, will it?”

“Your people will soon learn you will not tolerate such things _, hêrvenn nîn,_ but until then, try not dwell on such things. Be angry, yes, but focus on what you can do for this young maid.”

“Good advice.” Bard needed to change the subject. “How are things with that Elven hearing of yours?”

“Calm, thank the Valar. I hope it remains that way.” Thranduil turned to the Captain to on his right, and issued orders. The soldier turned and rode off.

“Where’s she going?”

“I wish her to check on all the wagons and report.”

After a few minutes, the Elf returned, and they conversed for a few moments. Thranduil urged his horse ahead and turned to face them, then raised his hand.

“ _DARO_!” he commanded, in a loud voice. It took a few moments before the caravan to come to a complete stop.

“What’s wrong, Thranduil?”

“Nothing to be concerned about. The children need to heed the call of nature, that is all.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

Soon, they were unloaded, and the women and some of the soldiers held up blankets to shield them from the cold, and aid in privacy. He saw Sigrid and Daeron helping Rhian carefully from the wagon, as well. Bard remembered Mattie having to use the necessary frequently as she got bigger. He and the rest of the Army kept watch over them, looking at the woods on either side carefully. He listened to the children and their caretakers quietly chatter, as they were taking care of business. There was Feren, helping Gruffudd along, and another Elf was helping with the two little girls, talking to them in low, soothing voices.

“Thranduil?”

“Yes, Bard?”

“I’m hearing birds, but it’s too late in the year for them, isn’t it?”

Thranduil looked at him incredulously. “You can hear them?”

“Well, yes. It’s faint, but I can definitely hear birdsong. Shouldn’t they have flown south?  I know some don’t but…”

“Bard, are you sure?” Thranduil was looking at him, with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure! I’ve heard enough of them when I worked on the Forest River in the spring. Why?”

Thranduil was thoughtful. “What you hear are not birds, _Meleth nîn._ They are my Guardians in the trees, sending signals signals to us and to each other.”

Bard examined the trees very carefully. “I don’t see them.”

“Neither do I, and that is as it should be. The Guardians of the Woodland Realm are trained to hide themselves well, and their sounds can only be heard by Elves.” He looked at Bard meaningfully.

“You mean…”

“I think so, Bard. Just as your eyesight has grown keener since we joined, it seems that your hearing has, as well.” He grinned at the Bowman.

Bard was a bit taken aback, shaking his head. “You’re the gift that keeps on giving, love.” He winked. “But I’ll take it.”

They sat on their horses, laughing and talking to each other, until suddenly, Bard could hear Sigrid’s alarmed voice.

“ _Da!_ _DA! ADA!"_

They both turned toward their daughter, with concern. Sigrid and Daeron were trying to hold up Rhian between them, who was holding her belly and crying out in agony.

The girl was in labor.

 

 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Oblet-haran_ – Check Mate (literally means “To imprison the king.”)

 _Nae, nirnaeth!_ – That’s terrible! (literally translated as “Alas, lamentations!

 _Hannon le, Gwathel. Cuio vae, ar no veren_ – Thank you, sister (sworn sister; not related) Farewell, and have a good time.

 _Gwador_ – brother (sworn brother; not related)

 _Cuio vae, Tauriel; raitho an glass_ – Farewell, Daughter of the Forest; try to be happy

 _DARO!_ – HALT!

 

**NOTES:**

******Daeron's information about abusers is correct. It came from a speech given by a counselor who served at our city's domestic violence center, and also from personal experience.  It's an important issue that MUST be stopped. If you, or someone you suspect might be a victim of domestic violence, this might help: http://www.thehotline.org/

\- Stratagem = Chess.

\- Since Middle Earth is not known to have Priests or Bishops, I have substituted a Wizard for the Bishop.

\- The earliest known game of chess goes back to the 6th century in India, although Persia, after it was conquered by the Arabs, developed it into the version we know today. Some historians believe that the Chinese had a part in this as well. Either way, the game is ancient, so I see no reason why Middle Earth wouldn’t have its own. Besides, it’s my fantasy verse, and I can do what I want, so there.

\- A Datun is a stick used to clean teeth, used before the invention of toothbrushes. They could be made from many different aromatic trees, and were used for thousands of years, before toothbrushes were invented, in the 1500’s, according to the Internet (and, if it’s on the ‘Net, you know it’s true…). In Ancient England, one of twigs used were from the Apple tree, so that is what I decided Bard and his family use.

\- Playing Cards have been around since 800 A.D.

\- Draughts is what we call Checkers in America.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of Dale finally arrive at the Halls of the Woodland Realm. 
> 
> We learn more of Rhian's story, but she is worse shape than anyone realizes, as the two Kings, pace outside the room, with great concern.  
> Our Bardlings assess their winter home, with the help of a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a special salute to [Leemitage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leemitage/pseuds/Leemitage), one of the most devoted and considerate people in this fandom! She never fails to let me, and many, many other Barduil authors, feel appreciated. She never, ever fails to send a kind, encouraging comment to us. I love that she actually lives in "Middle Earth!" How exciting!
> 
> Anyway, thanks, Leemitage, for all your kindness and dedication!! You keep me going, when I sometimes wonder if I'm falling flat on my face, here!! Huge, gigantic cyber-hugs from the USA, to New Zealand! 
> 
> (((((((((((((((Leemitage)))))))))))))))

 

**TRIGGER WARNING: Domestic Abuse/Rape***

 

 

 

 

Thranduil issued quick orders in Sindarin to the guards, who summoned a Healer to the first wagon quickly. Daeron scooped up Rhian who was sobbing, and carried her over to the wagon, as quickly as possible, transferred her to another guard, then he and Sigrid hopped up into the wagon, and helped her inside.

All was silent, as they waited for the Elénaril, the Healer and Hannah, midwife from Dale, who arrived moments after that, and went in. After several long minutes, the Healer came out, looking concerned. Bard and Thranduil had dismounted by that time, and waited by the entrance of the wagon, where a crowd was gathering.

“What’s going on? How is she?” Bard anxiously asked Elénaril as she hopped down from the wagon.

“My Lord, she is definitely in labor. Her waters have broken, and she had been having pains for some time.”

“Well, why did she not say something before we began our journey!?” Thranduil, louder and sharper than he meant to.

“She did not say anything because of how you just reacted, My King!" Elénaril replied, as she glared at him. "Keep your voice down!"

Thranduil closed his eyes, took a breath and calmed himself down. “Forgive me.” 

The Healer nodded, satisfied that her reprimand hit home. "She said she did not realize what was happening, at first, because the pain was in her back, and not her belly. It happens sometimes with human females. She is young and inexperienced in these matters, and was afraid to be the cause of holding up the journey. That young girl is extremely upset, which is not good for her, or the child.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have blamed her!” Bard said.

“My Lord, she blames herself. Please remember that this poor girl has been beaten down, and it will take a long time to recover from all she has been through.” The Elven healer chastised both Kings with a stern, withering look. “We must exercise the utmost patience and gentleness with her.”

“How far apart are her contractions?” Bard asked.

“I believe about five or so minutes. What helps us, is that this is her first child, and they can take hours to arrive. Miss Hannah has checked her, and she is still in the early stages, so we must continue. We cannot proceed much faster, as the jostling of the wagon could provoke an earlier birth, which could be injurious to her and the babe.”

“You recommend that we proceed, and at the same pace?” Thranduil asked the Healer.

“Yes, My King, I do. I would also recommend that the wagon be cleared of everyone but the midwife, Lady Sigrid, and Daeron. He has more experience with this than I do; he has delivered several human babies in Dale. He should stay in the wagon with her.  The young girl needs quiet and _absolute calm."_ Another pointed look at the two Kings. "I am sorry, but I must attend to my own patients, who have need of me.” She looked apologetic.

“Will she want Daeron to stay?” Bard asked.

“She has asked that he be there. I have seen him accompany her on her visits to the Healing tent, and I believe she will do better if he could remain.”

Bard looked at him, and the Elvenking nodded his assent. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Please see it done, and let’s get moving, as carefully as we can.”

Thranduil issued orders and the passengers of the first wagon were dispersed, and they were soon on their way. The subdued nature of what was going on up front, seemed to help everyone else be quiet.

As the caravan began its journey once more, Bard teased, "Elénaril can be as intimidating as Hilda, can't she?"

Thranduil smiled, "I would not wish to bet on either of them in a fight.  To be serious, Bard, she is an excellent Healer, and her priority should always be the well-being of her patients.  She was right to chastise us."

 

They continued at a careful, but steady pace, only stopping once more for a necessary break. Bard let out a cry of relief when, finally, _finally_ after six and a half hours, the entrance to the Halls of the Woodland Realm was in sight.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything so beautiful in all my life!” Bard complained. “I’m amazed the children behaved so well.”

“I am not.  I ordered a _losta-luith_ so the children could sleep the last three hours.” At Bard’s sharp look, the Elvenking, said, “They were cold, and uncomfortable. It is too much to ask of any child to be still for that long and not get upset.”

“You put my children to sleep?" Bard accused.

“Yes, we put all the children to sleep; Tilda and Bain included.  Restlessness and disruptive behavior could endanger them, and the entire caravan."  Thranduil looked at him, calmly.  "I will not apologize for that, Bard.  The safety of these people is our responsibility.  We discussed this." Thranduil's gaze was determined. 

Bard's mouth was a grim line for a few minutes, then he sighed. “You're right, of course. Forgive me, love. I’m just not used to all the things Elves can do, but that's my problem to deal with, not yours.”

“You are forgiven, _Meleth nîn.”_ The Elvenking smiled at him.

Then another pained cry came from the first wagon, which snapped both Kings to attention.  

 “Keep everyone in the wagons, have them brought in one at a time, to be unloaded.”

He turned at shouted in Sindarin to Feren, who nodded. Then he said to Bard, “I’m going ahead and alert the Healers to make ready for our patients.” The Elvenking urged his stallion forward, then took off at a full gallop, his hair and cape flying in the wind, as Feren moved into his place beside Bard, issuing orders to the officers that moved into formation.

Once Thranduil's horse reached the bridge, the horns were sounded announcing their arrival.  His silver-black cape billowed in the air behind him, as he galloped over the wide bridge as the great doors opened. Upon entering, he dismounted, and handed his reigns over.

“Welcome back, My King,” approached one of his Council members. “How was your journey?”

“Very long. I am afraid we have an urgent situation. There is a woman about to give birth, and we need to get her to the Healing Halls immediately. Her health is delicate, so Daeron, King Bard and I will be attending to her. I’ve ordered that the wagons be brought in separately.  Is everyone in place to help our guests to their quarters?”

“They are on their way, My Lord.”

“Excellent. Galion will see to it that King Bard’s younger children be made comfortable. His eldest daughter will accompany her father and myself.  Commander Feren will be personally escorting two young girls and an older gentleman, who will need help walking. Anyone who is not attending to the wagons or horses is to assist the refugees until they are all settled.”

“As you wish. It shall be done.”

Just as the words were said, the first wagon came in, and another pained cry could be heard. The Council member turned to the Elvenking in consternation, before turning away to attend to her duties with haste.

As the wagon stopped, the back flap opened up and the tail of the wagon was lowered. Daeron, carrying the girl in his arms, carefully set her down on the end, then jumped over her gracefully, landing on the ground, as only an Elf can do. Then he turned and reached for her, with Sigrid’s help. The girl was in sobbing in agony, tears streaked down her face, and her long, brown hair was soaked with sweat.

He picked her up, and kept murmuring soothing words in Sindarin, started toward the infirmary, with Sigrid, the midwife, and both Kings following behind.

 

Bard and Thranduil sat on chairs in the corridor outside of the room, nervous as two young fathers, lost in their own memories.  Thranduil recalled walking into the room and gasping at the sight of Mírelen, holding little Legolas, and looking up at him with an exhausted, yet brilliant smile. Her eyes were shining with wonder at the new life their love had created.

“Bard?” He looked at his husband, who was sitting with his elbows in his knees, with clasped hands and white knuckles. 

The Bowman turned looked at him, with worried, sad eyes.

“What are you thinking of?”

“When Tilda was born. I can't help it.” Bard admitted. “So many things can go wrong, Thranduil. Rhian’s sickly and weak, just like Mattie… One, or both of them, could die."  The Bowman, shook his head, and rubbed his hand over his face.

Thranduil reached for Bard’s hand, massaging it. “I am sorry. I do not know what to say to comfort, but take heart; there is much an Elven Healer can do that your people cannot. I hope that helps a little.”

“It does. A little.” Bard didn’t look comforted at all.

The Elvenking moved his chair closer, and put his arm around his husband’s shoulder, as they waited for the newest citizen of Dale to make his or her way into the world.

 

***************

 

“Rhian, you're doing so well, love. Now, I need you to take deep breaths, and blow out slowly. Can you do that?” The midwife was speaking with the girl in a gentle voice. “Come now, let me show you, like this…”

Rhian, exhausted and frightened, did her best to focus on the midwife’s face and imitated her, trying to sync their breathing but it hurt to take big breaths. Sigrid was on her other side, holding her hand, and sponging off her face. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t feel anything for this baby, and she hated herself for it.

 

~o0o~

 

She hated everything about her life, and just wanted it to stop.  She didn't care about anything anymore.

Her husband, had been charming and attentive, when he first swept her off of her feet. Rhian had always been painfully shy, especially after her Mam had died.  When Garth came along, Rhian could hardly believe this outgoing, handsome man would want her!  The young man did his level best to impress her father, and carefully cultivated a friendly relationship with him.

Rhian’s father had never been particularly loving and attentive to his daughter. When her Mam died, from the fever that was sweeping through Laketown that year, he resented being saddled with the young girl to raise on his own. She was even more of a disappointment to him, because of her shyness, so when this young, ambitious man pressed his suit, he was more relieved, than anything else, to rid himself of her. Enamored with this young man, her father easily gave his consent to marry her, even though she was so young.

Things began change with Garth, shortly after their wedding. He grew more and more impatient, becoming harsh with his words, and eventually, cruel with his fists. She had tried to leave, and went to her father for help, but he refused to accept that such a polite, respectful man could ever act that way. Garth had appeared on her father’s doorstep, flowers in hand, and, with his handsome, winning smile, spoke sweet words to her in front of her Da.  It didn't take much for Garth to convince her Da it was all a misunderstanding, and Rhian was just being silly and exaggerating. He ordered his daughter go back to her husband, telling her that if she refused to go, she would be on her own. She had no choice.

Once in the privacy of their house, Garth beat her, then dragged her into their bedroom by her hair, and raped her. The only thing she could do was take her mind to another place, and stay there, while all these things were happening.

Her life became an exercise in tiptoeing around his temper, trying not to set him off, doing everything he said, trying to give him everything he wanted, before he would even ask for it, so that he would be kinder to her. He would not allow her to visit friends, or to go anywhere except to the market. He controlled every area of her life, and would punish her severely for ‘breaking the rules,’ even when she had not.

When Rhian realized she was pregnant, she concealed it, trying to pretend it didn’t exist, both to her husband, and to herself. There was no love in this home, and there was nothing she had to offer a child. She didn’t feel like there was anything left of herself to give.

Eventually, it was unavoidable that Garth noticed her growing belly. And for a time, he was kind. He bragged to everyone about the son he was going to have, and did his best to convince everyone of their happy home. This was easily done, as, outside of the home, Garth was affable, friendly and put on a perfect “public face.” No one would ever believe that the man behaved the way he did in the privacy of his own home.

Her father was over the moon at the idea of a grandchild, and he and Garth spent hours together, drinking and toasting to his heir. Rhian smiled, and allowed herself to be a little hopeful that maybe this baby would solve her problems. Maybe this baby would help Garth to change his ways! She clung to the idea desperately, to find the strength to get through her days.

Her hopes were dashed, when, after a night out drinking, her husband slammed into the house and dragged her into the bedroom. When she tried to resist, he beat her savagely, always avoiding her stomach, but dealt bruising blows. Then he raped her, again, the stench of whisky breathing into her face, making her nauseous.

She didn’t utter a word or make a sound. She could only retreat to that place outside of herself, to endure it.

A few hours later, her husband was passed out cold, and snoring by her side. She got up to go to the necessary, when she heard a terrible roar, and shouting outside. Pulling a coat over her night clothes, she ran out to the walkway, and saw the flames. The Dragon woke up, they were saying; Get out! She quickly ran in and snatched some warmer clothes, and ran back out, trying to get the attention of one of the boats making their way out of the city.

Soon, a skiff stopped and let her get in. It was Old Ben. “Come on, young lady. Gently now, let’s get you settled.” The kindly old man sat her down and wrapped her in a blanket. “Now, wait here, and I’ll go help your husband gather your things, and we’ll be on our way.”

As if in a dream, she reached out for Old Ben’s arm, to stop him. She heard herself say, “Garth’s not home. He’s down at the pub.” Her husband’s favorite pub was on the other side of town, so there would be no way for Ben to know any different. She looked at the old man with empty, defeated eyes, which Ben had mistaken for calmness.

He patted her shoulder. “Well, don’t you worry, dearie. Likely he’ll catch a ride down there. Let’s get you out of here.” Ben used his long pole to steer though the streets and they were able to pick up some other refugees, and get to the edge of town, before Smaug laid his fiery paths through Laketown.

She could hear the screams of terror, and the cries of the dying. She felt nothing. She watched the townspeople make their way out of the town, shouting and desperately calling to their loved ones. Still, she felt empty inside. She didn’t know where her Da was, and she didn’t wish to find him. Rhian turned her head, and against the bright light of the flames saw the outline of her own house, and watched, as Smaug opened his huge maw and engulfed it in flames, destroying it, and the monster of a man she had married.

She felt absolutely nothing. She was a murderer, and there was nothing inside of her anymore to even care about it.

 

~o0o~

 

Now, as she lay in the room, with Daeron on one side, and Sigrid on the other, she was panting, trying to cope with her pains, which seemed only seconds apart.

“I can’t do this, please! Please don’t make me do this! I can’t!”

“Yes, you can, love.” She heard the midwife say, from her place at the foot of the bed.

“I don’t want to. I don’t want it… I can’t have it!” She said, before she could stop herself, groaning loudly.

“Of course, you do, dearie! You’ll see. I know you’re scared, but you just think on this beautiful wee one who will be in your arms…”

“NO!” She screamed. Then her words were incoherent as yet another stab of agony gripped her.

She felt Daeron’s hand grip hers, and he bent down, his face close. “Look at me, Rhian. It is going to be all right; do you trust me?”

Through her haze, she looked at this Elf, who had been so kind and attentive toward her.

 

~o0o~

 

She never understand why an Elf would take any interest in her, but he had come to see her frequently since she arrived in Dale.  She first met him, when she was struggling to carry a bucket of water, and was forced to drop it, as her side stabbed her, again.  

"My Lady? Are you well?" she heard a voice say, as she held herself around her ribs, waiting for the pain to subside. She opened her eyes, and saw a tall Elf, with dark auburn hair and a friendly smile. "May I help you with this?"

She froze, tongue-tied, and blinking rapidly.  Then she shook her head, "No, thank you." And she reached down again, for the bucket handle. 

A smooth, long-fingered hand took her arm, observing the bruises he saw there, with concerned eyes. Rhian jerked her arm back instantly as if the Elf's fingers were white-hot, and she jumped back with wide eyes, wincing from the pain. "No! Please..."  She looked at the ground, ashamed and embarrassed. "I... I must go." 

"But, My Lady..." He picked up the bucket, as she fled, looking at the ground.  He followed her to the tent she shared with her father and dove inside, her heart pounding with fear and shame.  She heard the sound of the bucket being set down near the entrance, then nothing.

She saw him only from a distance, twice more, before the Battle.  Her father had been killed, that day, so once the Dale encampment had been reorganized, Lady Hilda and Hannah assigned her to a tent with two kindly older women.  She didn't mourn her Da anymore than she mourned Garth.

Shortly after the cleanup had begun, the dark-haired Elf appeared at her tent, politely introducing himself, and chatted with the ladies for a few moments.  Then he smiled and bowed at them, before taking his leave.  He began to visit her tent on a regular basis, when he was off-duty as King Bard's Chief guard.  His presence made her uncomfortable and afraid, at first.  What if he was like Garth?  Garth was friendly, helpful and charming, but then.... what if this Elf turned out to be the same way?  She didn't have the nerve to tell him to stay away, so she simply refused to talk to him, hoping he would get the hint.  

But Daeron kept coming and sitting, doing little except be there.   At first, he didn’t even say anything to her.  He spoke to her companions in a friendly, easy manner, and the older ladies delighted in him.  Aside from that first day, when he tried to help her carry the water, he never tried to touch her.

Very slowly, she got used to his presence, and would say an occasional word to him. He would tell her stories, of the old Dale, or of his forest, as she sat quietly and listened. Not once did he ask her about her injuries, or her life in Laketown. He didn't seem to want anything from her; if she spoke to him, he was calm and relaxed, and if she didn't, he acted exactly the same.

Rhian didn’t want to like him. She _couldn’t_ like him, she told herself, because she didn't deserve his friendship.  He would hate her, when he learned the terrible thing she had done.

 

~o0o~

 

“Rhian? Please, do you trust me?” Daeron looked into her eyes, smiling, reassuring. She nodded her head, before crying out again.

“Lovey, I think we need to start pushing your baby out, now. It’s ready!” Hannah was calm and reassuring. “Let’s bring this little one into the world, shall we?”

Terrified, she looked to Daeron again, eyes wide and teary. “I’m so scared.” She whispered to him. “I can't do this. I'm a m... I can't keep it.  I just can't.

The Elf put his other hand on her cheek. “Don’t ever think that, Rhian. You are more than good enough for your child.”

“But you don’t know…” She sobbed. “I w-won’t be allowed to when the K-King- AAH!” Another contraction, with an overpowering urge to bear down. Daeron and Sigrid each put a hand on her back, and held each leg behind her knees, sitting her up, to begin to push the baby out.

While she was pushing, Daeron looked over at Sigrid, concerned and puzzled. She didn’t look as if she knew what the girl was talking about either. But it was enough to terrify her.

“Come now, love, push!” Hannah ordered, but Rhian was holding back, and panting, and terrified.

“NO! I CAN’T! I can’t, please! Don’t make me…” The girl sobbed, and couldn’t catch her breath. Rhian was hysterical, and hyperventilating, which was endangering both her and the baby.

Daeron was worried. He needed her to be awake enough to push, so he couldn’t put her to sleep. Whatever happened with this girl, he knew without doubt that she had done nothing to merit terror to this extreme. Something had to be done. Now. A sudden thought occurred to him.

Daeron took her face in his hands, and made her look at him. “Rhian, I need to step out for just a few moments. I promise you; I will be right back. Do you believe me?”

“No, please…don’t leave me! Please…” She begged him, panting and crying. “It hurts, I can’t breathe…”

He stroked her brow. “I will only be a moment or two. You trust me, do you not? I will help you, I promise.”

She nodded.

Quickly, he squeezed her hand and dashed out of the room.

“My Lord Bard?”

The two Kings shot up out of their chairs. “What’s wrong?” Bard asked, looking pale. “Is she all right? What’s happened?” Daeron saw Thranduil place his hand on the King of Dale’s shoulder, calming him.

“She is in no danger just yet, but she will be very soon if something is not done.  I need your help, Lord Bard.”

Bard and Thranduil looked at each other, then back at Daeron. “How can I possibly help?” Bard asked him. “I don’t understand.”

“She has indicated that something terrible has happened, and she could not keep her baby, if you find out. Do you have any idea what she is referring to?”

Bard looked puzzled. “No, I don’t. I know her husband died in the fire. He was listed among the missing, and her father died in the Battle. If Hilda knew anything, she would've told me, I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t be too concerned - husband’s death was the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”

“But, I am _very concerned,_ My Lord. I must extract a promise from you, without us knowing what the circumstances are. She is in a terrible state, and I fear for her. She is trying to keep herself from giving birth, she is that frightened. This could put the both of them in great danger.”

“What do you need, Daeron?”

“Would you promise to pardon her, unconditionally? Perhaps if she knows that she will remain safe, she can allow herself to calm down and breathe. As it stands now, she’s not able to take in enough air for her and the baby.”

Bard looked at him, brows furrowed. “Daeron, what you ask of me is a serious thing.”

“I understand, My Lord. But, do you honestly think this young girl has done something to merit having her child taken away from her? After everything she has been through?”

The King of Dale considered, carefully. “No. No, I don’t. Go back in there, and tell her she has my unconditional pardon, provided she does _everything_ you and the midwife tell her to do. Go!”

“Thank you, My Lord.” The Elf bowed to both Kings, and dashed back inside.

 

***************

 

Bard went to the entrance of the infirmary and sent for Hilda. When she arrived, she had a concerned look on her face. “Is the girl all right?”

“No, she’s not, Hil, and I need your help.”  Bard sat her down, and asked her to tell him everything she knew about how Rhian made it to the shore.

“She came with Old Ben and a few others. Her husband was where he always was, in that damned pub. She was in the house alone that night, and Ben went to get her first, because of the baby.”

“Do you know anyone here who was in that pub that night?”

“A couple. Everyone’s been sharing stories of where they were and what they were doing when the Dragon woke up.”

Bard’s mind quickly turned gears. “This is important Hil; I need you to find out everything you can about Garth that night. I need to know exactly what they witnessed.  Come back right away as soon as you know anything, and don’t tell them I asked.”

“Sure thing.” She left with her escort.

“What do you think happened, Bard?” Thranduil asked him.

“I’m not sure. But both Daeron and Hilda told me that she was badly bruised when we first arrived in Dale, so he must’ve beaten her, right before the fires. And he spent a lot of time at the pub, so it stands to reason he’d been drinking…”

“I do not understand.”

“I don’t either. But I need to know more, before I try and guess.”

They waited for a while, listening to the girl in question struggle, and to the encouraging voices of those with her.

When Hilda came back with some news, Bard could pretty much piece together the young woman’s story, and made his decision how to handle it.

Then Bard sat back down to wait with Thranduil, and tried not to think of Mattie. In a strange way, he found every cry of pain from Rhian comforting. It wasn’t easy listen to, but the cries told him she was alive.

 

***************

 

“Rhian, come on, you’re doing so great!” Sigrid had her hand, still sponging her off, then squeezed a cold, wet cloth against her mouth, which was gratefully accepted.  Rhian had been panting and pushing for so long, her lips were chapped.

Again, and again, Daeron and Sigrid lifted her back up and almost folding her in half, encouraged her when she pushed hard, and laid her back and praised her in between pains. It was going on forever. She was so tired, each time she wasn’t having a pain, she was fast asleep.

“I don’t think she’s got anything left, Daeron. She’s completely exhausted, poor mite.” Hannah, the midwife was concerned.

“I see that.” Daeron said, looking down at her. “It is better if she can do this herself, but if she cannot, she simply cannot.” He stroked her brow, and placed his hand on it and, with some words, put her to sleep.

He and Sigrid pulled her into a sitting position, then he crawled up on the bed behind her and situated her between his legs, with his arms around her. When the next contraction came, her body became tense as it pushed. Daeron put his chin on her shoulder, and placed his hands on her belly, speaking smoothly in Quenya. He was asking the baby to come, and he was asking her body to help. Daeron closed his eyes and concentrated. He could see and feel the baby; it was a little boy. The babe was struggling in distress, and calling out for help, as his little heart slowed down.

Daeron sent reassurance to the child, _I am here with you, little one… I will help you._   He tried to see what the problem was... _There_ ; _it_ _was_ _there_.  He moved more blood through the cord to give the baby what he needed.  With much relief, he heard the  baby's heartbeat increase.

_Now, come into the light, child. It is time, and I will help you... Let us bring you into the light, and all will be well..._

Rhian lay in his arms, oblivious, as Daeron and the child worked together to bring him into the world. The Elf kept sending comfort and strength to baby, and helped the girl’s body to push him out.

“I can see the head!” Hannah cried. “Sigrid, come down here and get the towels and blankets ready. Daeron, whatever it is your doing, keep it up!” Hannah was busy now, making preparations. “That’s it, love. Get some water in that basin over there and make sure it’s warm, but no too hot. I think three towels ought to do it. My lands! This place is outfitted nicely, and so organized!”

Hannah spoke to Sigrid in a confident, encouraging voice. “Now, get ready, we’re going to bring this child into the world and you’re going to help me do it. Bring me the scissors and two pieces of string, and dip them in the spirits to make sure they’re nice and clean, love.” Sigrid did as she was told and placed them on the table next to the midwife. She and Sigrid both washed their hands thoroughly. “Now, sit there on the bed across from me…”

Daeron was still focused, making each contraction longer and stronger. The baby boy’s heart rate was slowing down again - too low. If he couldn’t get the baby’s head out within the next minute or so, the child was going to was going to die. “Hannah, when the head comes out, you need to get the cord away from his neck right away. He’s suffocating!”

Hannah was nonplussed, which helped everyone in the room to remain calm and focused. “So, it’s a boy, is it? We’ll be ready. Sigrid, you’ll be holding the wee one’s head steady, while I take care of this little troublemaker. I might have to cut the cord before he’s completely born, if he’s hanged himself on it. Just keep him still, and do exactly as I tell you, and everything will be just fine.” To Daeron she said, “Are you ready, dear?  Let’s get this done.”

The Elf was exhausted; the combined efforts of keeping the baby stable, and helping Rhian push was draining his energy at a rapid pace, yet he could not stop.  Using every ounce of power he could muster, Daeron helped Rhian’s body to push as hard as it could, forcing the baby’s head under the pelvic bone and out into the room.

“That’s it! Head’s out! Sigrid, love, put your hands where mine are now. Got him? Wonderful, and I’ll just be a moment…” She quickly tried to loop the cord around his head, but there wasn’t enough of it, and it was stuck. “Well then, we’ll just cut it where he is. It’s all right…” With practiced speed, she quickly worked her way around the cord with the strings, tied them off tightly.  “You ready with the scissors, lovey?  Go ahead and cut it now... There we go! It should take just one more push, and he’ll be here. Daeron, you still with me?”

“Yes,” he murmured weakly, panting, eyes closed.

“The hardest part is over, love, so all we need is a one more push.  Come on now; this is it!”

Daeron used the last of his strength, and connected again with Rhian’s belly to push the child out. Then he collapsed back against the wall, panting, eyes closed, still holding the girl to him.  With much relief, Daeron heard the baby's cries, and the delighted squeals of the women who received him into their hands.  His world became grey, then black.

 

***************

 

Bard leapt to his feet. “Did you hear that?”

Thranduil stood next to him. “The child has arrived. Your Kingdom as increased by one, _Meleth_ _nîn_. Congratulations.” He kissed Bard’s temple.

But Bard didn’t feel happy at all. He had heard nothing from the young woman for quite a while, and he was frightened. This all felt too much like Mattie, and he couldn’t stop his stomach from churning.

Thranduil put his arm around his shoulder. “I am sure it is fine, Bard.”

“Well, I’m _not sure!"_ he snapped. "I need to know…” Bard's arm was across his stomach, and tried to find comfort in Thranduil’s voice and touch, but it didn’t help.

He paced the floor for several more minutes, until Sigrid came out of the room, carrying a small bundle wrapped in a white blanket.

“Look! It’s a boy!” She brought him to Bard and Thranduil, and they both looked down at the baby. He was asleep, with his little elbow was against his cheek, as his hand grasped his ear. Bard saw he had lots of dark hair, just like Bain, when he was first born. He was mesmerized, but soon his anxiety returned.

“How is Rhian?” he asked Sigrid. “We didn't hear her..."

Sigrid was quick to reassure him. “She’s fine, Da, she really is fine. She was completely worn out, so Daeron had to put her to sleep. Somehow, he managed to do it for her, and helped the baby. I have no idea how he did that, but he did.”

Then Sigrid turned to Thranduil, “ _Ada,_ Daeron is barely conscious and he’s very pale.”

Bard looked at the Elvenking, who was alarmed to hear this.

“I need to go to him, _Meleth nîn.”_ Thranduil kissed Sigrid on the cheek. “I am proud of you, _Iellig._ You did an outstanding job.” Then he quickly went into the room.

Bard made to go after him, but Sigrid stopped her Da. “Oh, no you don’t. Hannah is still cleaning Rhian up, and the last thing we need, is for you go in there and upchuck all over everything. _Ada_ can take care of Daeron. You just sit here with the baby, a while.” She handed the bundle to him, kissed his hair as he sat down, and left again.

Bard looked down at the bundle in his arms. Now the little one’s eyes were open, blinking, and considering him. He couldn’t help but smile in wonder.

“Hello there! Welcome to Middle Earth, lad; I hope you like it here with us.” He began to talk to the boy in low murmuring tones, getting up and pacing the room, rocking him gently, introducing himself to his new subject, and sharing his hopes of what Dale will be some day. The baby seemed to like his voice, because he looked up at Bard with trusting eyes. Then he took his hand away from his ear, smacked his little lips and stretched, reaching his arm up. Bard let him clasp his tiny fingers on his calloused finger.

“You've got a strong grip, Little Man.  Maybe you'll grow up and join Dale's Army, yeah?"

The baby returned these compliments with several tiny sneezes, which made the King of Dale laugh and cry at the same time.

 

Later, after Bard went to the Royal Chambers, and had a wash, he checked on Bain and Tilda, then went to see the rest of his people. They all had found spaces and were busy making themselves comfortable, with the Elves falling over themselves to help. Everyone wanted to know about the Dale’s newest citizen, and when he announced that mother and son were fine, smiles and sighs of relief went up all around.

Hilda was busy overseeing things, but she was looking ragged. “Hil, go get some rest. Everything’s well in hand, here. You’re done in.”

“I can’t Bard! There’s still too much to - “

He held up his hand to silence her. “You’re exhausted, and, as you can see, our people have more than enough help. You’ve done a brilliant job, but you’re coming with me now.” Bard spoke to a few of the other ladies, who assured him they would finish up. Taking her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm, he escorted her to the Royal Wing, where they met up with Galion.

“You’re just the person I was hoping to see. The Lady Hilda needs some rest, so if you would be so kind as to report to her in a couple of hours as to my people’s progress, it would be much appreciated.”

Galion bowed, “As you wish. You will be in your apartment, My Lady?”

Bard replied for her. “She will either be in hers, or in with Bain and Tilda. Either way, I would like it if someone brings a light snack and tea for her, and she is to rest until dinner tonight.”

He looked at her severely. “That is my order as your King. I need you too much, for you to wear yourself out.” He kissed her irritated cheek and opened her door, “Now, go lie down.” She huffed and flounced, but she went in and closed the door behind her.

“Thank you, Galion. Should I order a guard outside her door?” He smirked to the Aide.

“You may have to. She works very hard.” Galion smiled.

“She does. I’m lucky to have her and Percy.”

“I agree, My Lord. We all are.”

Bard went into his chambers, where Thrandiul was sitting on one of the couches, so he went to join him.

“How is Daeron?”

“He has been placed in his own room and is resting.  He was unconscious when I reached him; he used almost all his strength to save Rhian and the child.  It was a dangerous thing for him to do, but I cannot disgree with his actions.  I would have done the same. It will be a several days before he will be released for duty. Maybe more.”

“Do you know how Rhian and the baby are?”

“It was agreed she needed to sleep for a long while to recover, so both she and Daeron have been put under a _losta-luith_ for at least a day. Elénaril and your midwife told me if Daeron had not assisted as he had, the babe might have perished, and the girl with him. She was too weak, and there were some last-minute complications.”

Bard became sober. “I’m glad I didn’t know that until now,” he said quietly. ‘Last-minute complications’ are what killed my wife.”

He felt a kiss at his temple. “I am sorry. But you are here with me, now, and all is well.”

Bard leaned his head into his Elf. “Yes, it is.  What about the baby?”

“They found a nursing mother amongst your people, and the boy will be taken to her for feedings until Rhian is awake. Sigrid and Hannah are looking after him.”

Bard sat back on the couch, head back and eyes closed. “What a day!”  He laughed a little. “It was more than we were expecting, wasn’t it?”

“You will have many, many days like that as a King, _Meleth nîn._ But I will be with you.”

“And I will be with you.” He smiled, kissed Thrandiul, several times, thoroughly. “When will dinner be served?”

“The dinner bell usually rings about three hours from now. If you need to rest some, we have time.”

“I don’t want to do that. Too much is going on, and the kids might need me, until they get used to things, here.”

As if on cue, the main chamber door was opened by a guard, and Tilda tore across the room and bounced on the couch beside them. “Hi Da! It’s so pretty here!” She lisped.

“I’m glad you like it, Little Bean. What do you think of your room?”

“I LOVE it!” She bounced some more. Then she looked around the chambers. “Ooh, this is pretty, too.”

“You think so, _Tithen Pen?”_ Thranduil asked her. “I like it, too.  Would you like me to show it to you?”

She grinned and jumped back off the couch and pulled Thranduil up by his hand. “Let’s go!”

Bard leaned his head back again and listened, as his daughter and his husband chatted away, going from room to room. He was concerned about the young girl lying in the infirmary. It wasn’t hard to guess why Rhian was afraid, and he had a strong hunch of what really occurred. The only way to know for sure was to ask her.

He had promised to pardon her, and he would, but, she needed to tell Bard the complete truth for her own sake, or she would find no peace. He learned that much from all his talks with Thranduil. Darkness must be brought out into the light, in order to defeat it.

It was just a matter of how to get her to talk, without scaring the life out of her.

Those thoughts could wait until later. He would just sit here for a moment or two, then see to his people….

 

***************

 

Thranduil put his finger to his lips, and motioned Tilda to be quiet, as they came back into the living area, to find Bard fast asleep.

He quietly went over to Bard, gently eased him into a lying position with a pillow under his head, and pulled a blanket over him. After kissing him on the brow, he went back over to their youngest, and whispered. “Let us give him a nice nap. He’s had a long day, _Tithen_ _Pen_.” He reached for her hand. “Come.”

And they tiptoed out of the chamber and quietly shut the door.

He told the guard to let Bard sleep, and went into the children’s apartment. “Hello, Bain! How do you like your winter home?”

“This is great! You're sooooo lucky!”

Thranduil smiled. “I am glad you like it. Have you seen the rest of the Palace?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, your Da is taking a nap, and if you would let me, I would be happy to show you around. We need to visit your people, so I will need the Prince and Princess of Dale to accompany me.”

Still holding Tilda’s hand, and with Bain on his other side, they made their way to the Dining Hall, and he showed them the floors and the chandeliers. He pointed out the dais with the long table, where they would be sitting tonight. “We will only join the others for dinner occasionally, children. For the most part, I would like it if we ate in my chambers.” He smiled down at Tilda. “Your Da and I do not care much for being on display. I thought you might prefer not to be, either.”

Bain thought about it. “I think the people might need to see us once in a while, but not every night.”

He looked at Bain. “You are quite right. As the Crown Prince, you are your father’s representative to your people. You all are. He is needed in Dale, so you all must do what you can to encourage your people and make them feel good about being here. Can you think of ways to do that?”

Tilda reminded him, “I’m supposed to be listening. Especially to the orphans, right?”

“Right. You are to do that.”

“And I can help Galion and Hilda with people of Dale, when I’m not at lessons or practice.” Bain said.

“You could do that. But you need not do this all the time. I wish for you to have fun. Perhaps you can find ways to play with the children, while their mothers are busy. Or, do you think perhaps your elderly might like visits from the Prince and Princesses of Dale?”

Bain and Tilda both nodded.

“I think so too. Now, let us continue.”

He showed them some of the Palace – and said no to Bain’s request to see the dungeons – then they all went to the Visitor’s Wings.

Thranduil was pleased at the progress. The people of Dale seemed relaxed and excited at their accommodations. For most of them, this the nicest place they ever lived in. He and the children wandered through the halls, greeting those who came out to meet him, answering questions and giving them his personal welcome. Bain seemed to take his job as Prince seriously, as he was asking his people questions about their comfort and telling them he hoped they had a good time while they are here. Tilda smiled and waved to her friends, and, when they reached the Orphans’ rooms, she politely asked if she could go sit with them.

She motioned for him to come closer, and whispered into his ear. “So, I can listen to them.” He smiled down at her and she took off.

There was Feren and Glélindë, so Thranduil excused himself from Bain, who was chatting with some older boys, and went over to them. They had been helping Bronwyn, along with many other Elf volunteers, and now they were sitting on the floor, with a blonde, curly-haired child in each of their laps. “Good afternoon. I see you have met some special children.” He smiled down at Glélindë, who had the younger one in her lap, eyes shining.

“Did you have a nice trip, _hînnith?”_ he asked Alis and Dafina. They looked up at him with their blue eyes, nodding.

Feren had told him that Alis was five years old, and Dafina had just turned three. They wouldn’t be sleeping in the Orphans Rooms this winter. Now that they were all indoors, where it was safe and warm, a set of rooms were set aside near Feren’s home, so they could be reunited with their grandfather. He had been outfitted with crutches, and Glélindë will be helping him as much as possible.

“Where is their grandfather?” he asked Feren.

“Gruffudd was tired from the journey, and he is resting. Our corridor is quiet, and it is near where the elderly of Dale will be staying, away from the constant noise of small children.”

“I am glad someone thought of that. I certainly did not.” Thranduil marveled. “Then again, we are not used to having the aged here in the Palace.”

“We can thank the Lady Hilda and Galion. They planned this out beautifully.”

“So they did. I shall make sure to thank them both.”

“So, what do you think of these tiny ones?” He inquired of Feren’s wife.

“Oh, My Lord, they are so wonderful and sweet! I can see why my husband fell in love with them.” She looked down at little Dafina and rubbed their noses together, making the toddler giggle.

“You have my earnest hopes that Lady Hilda will allow you to have them. I have confidence she will find no disappointment with the two of you.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” The couple continued to cuddle the girls, so he located Bain and Tilda, and made to leave. They found Sigrid, who was sitting with the new baby’s temporary wet-nurse, as he was just finishing a feeding.

“Hi, _Ada.”_ She whispered, as the boy was asleep already.

The nursing mother made to rise and curtsy, but he waved her back down. “Please, sit, My Lady. You have my gratitude for your help in this matter.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You honor us with your kindness.” She smiled up at him shyly, and blushed.

Sigrid thanked the mother, and after checking the baby’s bottom, bundled him back up and came to her brother and her sister, who looked at him in amazement.

“He’s so little!” Tilda whispered. “Look at his teensy-weensy fingernails!”

“You were just as little when you were born, you know.”

“I was?” Tilda squealed. After her sister shushed her, she whispered, “Sorry. I was really that little?”

“You were smaller, actually. You were three weeks early.”

“I didn’t know that. Does Auntie Hil know that?” Tilda’s eyes were wide.

Thranduil stooped to tell her. “I have been told Auntie Hil was present at all your births.”

“Wow,” the little girl breathed. “She saw me get borned?”

Sigrid nodded. “Aye, she did.”

 “I wonder what his name will be. Look at all that hair!” Bain marveled.

After a few moments, the Elvenking reached his arms out. “I believe I shall carry him back, if you do not mind, Sigrid. I would like a chance to make his acquaintance. Come children, let us take this young man to the Royal Wing, and see if your father is awake, yet.”

Many of other Elves stopped what they were doing to watch fondly, as their Warrior-King led Bard’s children through the halls and walkways of the Palace with the tiny bundle in his arms.  Many remembered their King from the days when Prince Legolas was a baby, and loved to parade his son around to show him off.  They had mourned with him and for him during those long years after their beloved Queen was killed.  Now, the Woodland Elves saw the renewed joy on Thranduil’s face, and were glad of it. He was whole again and happy, and the atmosphere of the entire Palace felt lighter.

After checking in with Hannah, who was still watching over the sleeping Rhian, he whispered to her that he was taking the babe to the children’s apartment, and she nodded. He peeked in on Daeron, who was fast asleep, still pale. After asking Sigrid to pick up some extra clouts, they were off to the Royal Wing.

When they were at the entrance of the children’s apartment, he sent them inside, and took a quick look to see if Bard was still napping. He was.

Thranduil settled himself on the couch with the children and smiled at the bundle in his arms, and remembered when Legolas was first born, and he marveled at both the differences and the similarities between the two races. One thing was for certain; every newborn was enchanting.

“Thrandool? What was Legolas’ Mam like?” Tilda asked, innocently.

“Tilda!” Sigrid hissed at her sister. “Don’t be rude!”

Thranduil calmed her. “Peace, Sigrid. It is all right.” To the youngest, who was looking upset with herself, he said. “Your sister reprimands you because speaking of my late wife sometimes makes me sad, but that is not your fault, and it is not something you should be concerned about.”  

He gave Tilda a reassuring smile.  “I will tell you that her name was Mirelen, and she had long, wavy dark hair and eyes. She was very beautiful, and someday, I will tell you more about her.  I have heard your own mother was beautiful, too.”

“Aye, she was.”  Tilda said.  “Da always says so.”

“I think that is all we shall say on the subject for now.”  This is a good day, and we do not want to be sad.  Do you understand?” He reached out his arm for Tilda, and motioned for her to come and sit beside him.

“But, you and Da are married now, so you don’t have to be sad anymore.” She looked up at him. “Right?”

“Right.”  Thranduil tilted his head and smiled at her. “Your father makes me happy, just as you children do, and Tauriel.  It makes things better, does it not?”

He checked the infant, and saw that he needed changing. “Sigrid, would you please hand me a clout? Thank you.” He laid the baby down on the couch beside him, and began to change him.

Sigrid gasped, “I didn’t know you knew how to do that!”

The Elvenking laughed. “Just because Legolas was born a long time ago, does not mean I have forgotten how to take care of a baby.”

“But, I thought… I mean you’re a King! Didn’t you have people do that for you?”

“When Legolas was born, there were those who tried to convince my wife to let others care for him, but she refused and she insisted that I help, as well, when I could. Now, I am glad of it. Some were scandalized at the idea, but they began to see the wisdom in it. If a ruler does not hesitate to care for his own children, then he will not hesitate to care for those in his Kingdom.”

He finished up with the infant, and quickly bundled him up again. “Now, _Tithen Pen,_ I believe you would like a turn to hold this little one?” Eagerly she nodded, with her gap-toothed smile. He had her sit back on the lounger, and Sigrid quickly brought a pillow from her bed to put on her lap, then carefully settled the sleeping little boy into her arms.

Bard came into the apartment a short time later, and Thranduil looked up at his husband, smiling proudly. “Did you have a good nap?” He asked, as the Bowman kissed the top of his head.

“Yes, I did. I see you’ve been busy. Hi, Sea Monsters. Have you corrupted our little man, yet?”

Sigrid deadpanned, “Of course, Da. We’ve been teaching him all your favorite swear words.”

At this, Bain snickered loudly, and even Thranduil laughed at Bard, who tried to feign innocence.

Tilda, still holding the baby, just rolled her eyes at her silly family.

 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_losta-luith_ – sleeping spell  
_hînnith_ – little girls  
_Iellig_ – My daughter  
_Tithen Pen_ – Little One

 

**NOTES:**

Yes, Tilda still has missing teeth, and has a cute lisp, but forgive me for not writing it all the time.

“Clout” is an ancient word, meaning “piece of cloth.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite couple celebrate their first night in the Woodland Realm, then, at breakfast the next morning, Tilda makes some interesting observations about her Auntie. After breakfast, Thranduil and Bard visit the the patients in the Healing Halls, and some unexpected things happen.
> 
> Later, Bard, Thranduil and Rhian go over all the facts of what happened the night the Dragon came, and the King of Dale passes his judgement, (which is not a pardon, as he had promised, earlier) and an important introduction is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Thirty is long and has a lot going on, so I hope you stick with it.
> 
> Much love and good thoughts go out to those suffering the effects of Hurricane Harvey in Texas, plus anyone who is grappling with ever-increasing natural disasters around the globe... If anyone is wondering, the Red Cross is a worthy place to offer your help, should you feel the desire to.
> 
> I've got some exciting news! [dollylux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux) has added a new story to the wonderfully written ["The Start of Something"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/199331) series! Its racy, so buckle your seatbelts...
> 
> Thanks eone, for continuing to find interest in my little verse. It fills my heart and humbles me all at the same time...

 

 

 

***Trigger Warning: Mentions of Domestic Violence***

 

***************

 

Dinner that evening in the Dining Hall was a noisy, merry affair. Bard sat next to his husband, looking down at their combined people, optimistic, but watchful. The women were laughing and chatting, with each other, and with the Elves. This was new and exciting; the loneliness from separation hasn’t had a chance to set in, yet. The children were thrilled with all the new things they had seen today, and he saw the oldsters happily ensconced among them.

Things were off to a promising start. Now, he just had to find a way to leave it all behind, in two days.

As if he was reading his mind, Thranduil reached under the table for his hand and squeezed it, giving him a reassuring smile. “I shall miss you, too, _Meleth nîn._ But, while you are here, let us enjoy each other, and not dwell on sadness, until we must.”

Bard picked up his goblet, “You’re right. Let’s do that.” He then stood up, and Galion motioned eone to be quiet, while he gave a speech, thanking his people for being willing to come, and praising them, especially the children for their good behavior today. He wished them all a happy and safe winter, and promised that their men left in Dale would visit their families at least once, weather permitting. He asked his people to please continue to report to the Lady Hilda - who was persuaded to stand up - should they have cares or concerns. Bard thanked her for her hard work in arranging the trip, and the Dining Hall broke into spontaneous applause.

Hilda blushing and bewildered, smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you kindly. I insist that Galion here, be given some credit, because he worked just as hard as I did. Stand up, Galion, and let us thank you.” More applause and cheering.

After they sat down, Bard said, “For those of you who have not heard yet, Rhian delivered a healthy baby boy this afternoon, and mother and son are doing fine.” The Dining Hall gave a collective gasp of delight, and there was another round of applause.

Then, finally, King Thranduil stood, raised he glass, and said, simply. “Good people of Dale, please allow me to officially welcome you all to the Woodland Realm for the duration of the winter. It is my hope that you enjoy your time here, and find it productive and pleasant, as my people endeavor to assist you in establishing your new lives, in your new country. To Dale and its future!”

At this, everyone stood, drank the toast, and gave the Two Kings, as well as themselves, a final round of applause.

Once dinner was done, and the kids were in bed, the newly married couple retreated at last to the privacy of their bedroom, with the ceiling full of stars.

Thranduil gently led his Bowman to the bed, and began kissing him softly. He sat him down and began to remove his clothing, between caresses. When Bard tried to do the same with his Elf, Thranduil shushed him and said. “Tonight, I want to make love to my husband. Let me take care of you, _Meleth nîn._ You are mine to cherish and protect.”

Like a soothing balm to his spirit, the Elvenking’s gentle and sweet touches and kisses, continued, as he undressed them both and coaxed him farther onto the bed, laying on top of him, between his legs. Thranduil kissed his eyes, nose, cheeks, forehead and finally, his mouth, parting Bard’s lips and exploring his mouth, as the warmth of his smooth skin melted him into the mattress, and blocked out the rest of the world, until their universe was just the two of them.

“I love you so much, Thranduil,” he whispered, as the Elf nuzzled and covered his neck in wet kisses. “I wish you could know how much.”

“Oh, but I do, Bard.” The Elf smiled down at him, rubbing their noses together. “My heart and yours are one, and I feel your love every minute of the day. Just as you feel mine.”

A curtain of icy blonde hair surrounded them, as beautiful grey eyes looked down into his, as Thranduil caressed his face. He kissed him again, and Bard wrapped his arms around him, stroking his back, then his hips, holding them close to him, as they moved against each other.

Bard closed his eyes and hummed with pleasure as he felt kisses trail down his throat and on one of his nipples, as the other one was being teased. He ran the silky blonde hair through his fingers and stroked the back of the Elf’s head, before he felt for pointed ears and rubbed the tips, between his fingers, and smiling as he heard a beautiful baritone moan of pleasure, and enjoyed the feeling of their hardening cocks rub together.

Kisses were trailing down to his stomach, then onto his hips, then he was enveloped inside the hot, wet heat of Thranduil’s mouth. Gasping, he whispered, “Mmmm...  That’s so good. Valar, I love this…” The Elf’s head started bobbing up and down, with his hand moving around the base of him, fondling his balls, and massaging his opening. Soon, Bard’s hips were jerking up and the sensations took over. “Please Thranduil. I want to come with you inside me,” he panted.

Thranduil pulled off of Bard’s cock with a loud, lewd noise which sent thrills through him. Then a slick finger entered him, while his husband’s, beautiful, low voice whispered loving words to him in Sindarin and Westron. He massaged and stroked his insides, until Bard was writhing, and trembling, as Thranduil worked him open, now using three fingers, filling him up, and rubbing that wonderful place in him that set him on fire, from the inside out.

“Oh, fuck… Yeah… Mmmnnngh… I need you, love… Please…” Bard rasped, and begged. Grasping his Elf by the shoulders, he sat up, and kissed him, plundering his mouth with harsh force, as he felt the fingers pull out. He straddled Thranduil’s knees, and guided his cock inside, groaning as he lowered himself down, inch by inch as he heard and felt the Elvenking’s deep moans of pleasure, as he murmured softly.

He clasped them together, as Thranduil massaged his buttocks, helping him move, helping them move, together. He could feel his cock rubbing between their bodies, and he closed his eyes, head back, as he reveled in the sensation. His body moved faster and more forcefully, each thrust was met with equal force by his husband, as they began the sweet race to completion. When the Elf reached forward and took one of his nipples in his mouth, he cried out. “Oh, bloody fuck… Thranduil, I’m gonna come… I can feel you want to come… Do you feel me, love?” he babbled.

 _“A, Meleth nîn, Mae ad limp mi gin… Ritho! No lagor!”_ Thranduil whimpered.

He loved knowing how his Elf felt inside. He wanted to dive into this and never come up for air again, wanting his world to be just this, always. It could never, ever be enough, this intense, glorious coupling with his beautiful, ethereal husband. Each time with him was a miracle, and would forever want more. Bard cried out, incoherent, as he was overcome. Thranduil’s wordless moans only drove him deeper. When Thranduil bit his nipple, he dug his fingers into Elven flesh as he slammed down on him, over and over, until they both screamed as he came.

Here came to sun and the stars that always greeted him in his ecstasy. He couldn’t stop, because just as he thought it couldn’t get better, Thranduil came then, inside of him, and the beautiful fireworks behind his eyes began all over again, as he shouted out the Elf’s name, over and over, sobbing it, drowning in it; clasping him and holding on for dear life as he rode him right over the cliff and became lost in their long, long fall.

After they calmed, finally, they stayed in this position for a long time. They held each other so tight, and said nothing, afraid to break the spell between them, and allow the world back in.

 

Breakfast was eaten in the King’s chambers, with the children, Hilda and Galion, in attendance. Bard watched his Elf, and enjoyed the pleasure on his face, as Thranduil looked around at e one sitting there. The dining area’s table was rectangular, made of light, polished oak, with comfortable chairs that could seat eight. Bard sat at one end, the Elvenking on the other, and the three children and Hilda divided themselves along the sides. As he listened to eone’s plans for the day, Bard sat his forearms on the table and watched his husband’s eyes dance with happiness at having a family again. Even Galion, who was serving, was enjoying this. He had refused Bard’s invitation to sit and eat with them, assuring the Bowman he much preferred to see to eone’s meal.

“My Lord, I thank you,” Galion assured him with a smile. “I have had this morning routine for thousands of years. I enjoy my work much; please do not worry about me.”

Back in Laketown, sitting down with his children for meals were among his favorite memories. Many times, they would eat at Hilda and Percy’s house, and it was a real family affair. The conversation was natural, oftentimes funny, and always loving. Hilda insisted the children keep good table manners, just as Mattie had, with Bard’s support.

They were getting the hang of more formal dining, now that their situation has changed, thanks to Galion and Thranduil. Before the funeral at Erebor, he sat Bard, Percy and Hilda down taught them the etiquette of banquet dining, with different forks, spoons, glasses, etc. Thank heavens the Dwarves weren’t terribly fancy; their table manners were scandalous, at times, but these were still good things to learn.

“Sigrid, where will you be today? I want to spend some time with you kids, you know. I have to leave tomorrow, then you can have the Elves all to yourself.” He gave them a bittersweet smile.

“Don’t worry Da. I want to ask Hannah how Rhian’s doing, and the baby, and then I’ll unpack. I never had a chance when we first got here, you know.”

“You’re right, and no mistake. You all just took off! By the time my wagon came in the doors, you were gone!” Bain said.

Thranduil chuckled. “Yes, it was a bit exciting. I am glad the child waited until after we arrived. That was quite an experience for you, Sigrid. What do you think about being a Healer now?”

“Well, I was pretty scared. For her, but for myself, too. I didn’t know what to do, but Hannah kept explaining things, and I didn’t mind so much. As long as I knew what to do, it was good.”

“You weren’t upset?” Tilda asked her. “I mean, I’ve heard it can be messy. Did your stomach hurt like the way Da gets?”

Sigrid shook her head. “Not a bit. Once I knew things to do to help, that’s all I cared about. It wasn’t much, I mean, wetting her lips, sponging her face off, and talking to her. But, no, I didn’t feel sick to my stomach.”

“Ladies yell a lot, when they have babies.” Tilda said. “Anna told me that her Mam made a lot of noise when her baby sister was born. She didn’t like it. I wouldn’t either.”

Hilda answered, “They do, but Mams don’t remember too much about it once the baby is here.”

Tilda was still curious. “But, didn’t that scare you? I’d be scared.”

“That didn’t bother me. I don’t know why, but I just try to think on what I have to do to make things better. When I was in Dale, Elénaril kept telling me to focus on the treatment, and what I needed to do. I’m not supposed to let myself feel too much, because then, I’d be a bawling mess, and the patient wouldn’t get any help. Master Óin always says: ‘Never bleed for the patient.’”

“That makes a lot of sense.” Bard told his daughter. “Have you been able to do that, so far?”

“It’s easier than I thought it would be. Some people can’t do it. I can,” she shrugged, “which is why I should be a Healer, if I can. Elénaril said I was a natural.”

Thranduil patted her hand, “If she said this to you, _Iellig,_ that is encouraging. She does not give compliments unless they are truly merited.”

Sigrid grinned, “Thank you _Ada!”_

“You are most welcome,” The Elvenking smiled down her. “I hope you continue with your studies here. In fact, children, your father and I need to speak about your schooling while you are here.”

Bain groaned and rolled his eyes.

Tilda said, “We had classes in the Children’s tent, so I’m used to it now. I like it. Bain was there for a lot of it. Miss Bronwyn separated us, so the older kids could learn different things.”

“How many of the children know how to read and write?” Thranduil asked, concerned.

“Not many.” Bain answered. “If somebody’s Mam or Da knew how, they would learn, but…”

Thranduil looked at his husband alarmed. “There were no schools in Laketown?”

Bard shook his head. “The Master kept finding reasons to close them. He came up with excuses why the town couldn’t afford it. Mattie taught me when we were first married, because she used to be a teacher. She brought a lot of books with her from her Da’s house. Then she taught Hilda and Percy, our children, and some of their friends. When Tilda was born, Hilda kept up with their lessons.”

“Was Mam born in Laketown?” Tilda asked.

“No, Little Bean, she came from Dorwinian. Her Da, your Grandad Bain, was a nice man. So was your Grandad Brand. They became good friends when your Mam and I met.”

“They were at that.” Hilda reminisced. “I wish you kids could have known them, those two were hilarious together!” She smiled at Tilda. “Remind me to tell you some stories about them, this winter. I knew your Da when he was a boy.”

“Thrandool said you saw all of us get borned, Auntie Hil. You must be really old!” Tilda was amazed.

Thranduil quickly grabbed his teacup, to drink, Galion suddenly grappled with a coughing fit, and Bard bit down, hard on the inside of his cheek.

“Oh, you think so, Beanie?” Hilda asked her, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yes. I mean, Da is old. And if you knew my Grandads and you knew my Da when he was young, then you’re really _really_ old!” Tilda reasoned. “How old are you?”

“Just you don’t worry about that, Little Bean. I'm as old as my hair, and a bit older than my teeth.”

Tilda sat for a moment, trying to work that one out. “I don’t know what that means, Auntie Hil.”

“Don't worry, love. when you get really, _really_ old, like me, you will.”

Tilda leaned into Hilda. “I love you, no matter how old you are,” the little girl consoled her Auntie. "And Uncle Percy, too."

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried there for a minute.” She chuckled, and put her arm around her. “I love you, too.” She kissed the little one’s cheek. “Now, I’m off, Little Bean. Got a lot to do.”

She turned to the others. “You kids stay here and listen to your Da about your schooling. Don’t you give me that look, Bain! You’re gonna do it and no arguing.” She got up, kissed the children, Bard, Thranduil, and even Galion, and left for the day.

Thrandiul gestured toward his Aide. “Galion will oversee your education, and, at times, be your instructor. You will join the rest of the children for part of the day, then have individual lessons according to your age and ability. Bain, you are going to be continuing with sword training with Daeron. He will also begin lessons in archery, in our indoor arena. When spring comes, you can continue with your father.”

“Yes!” Bain raised his fists in the air.

Bard chimed in, “It sounds good to me, but if you don’t work hard at your other subjects, you won’t be allowed to practice. That’s the rule; I won’t have you slacking.”

Bain’s face fell. “All right, I promise.”

“It’s Thranduil and Galion you need to promise, too.”

Bain turned to Thranduil and Galion. “I promise.”

Thranduil continued. “Of course, Sigrid, you will continue with the Healers for part of your day, as you did in Dale. Hannah and the Healer from Dale need to set up with the Elves, so you could be help them coordinate their facility and services. Tilda, you will be my liaison, for the children.”

“What’s that?”

“Liaison means one who listens, then takes the message to the other party, to solve problems. So, you will be listening to the children, and telling Lady Hilda and myself if the children are happy. We have discussed this, but this is your official title: Lady Tilda, the King’s Liaison. Do you like it?”

She tried to say the word several times. It was hard with her missing front teeth. “Okay. But I’ll just call myself, a ‘Listener.’”

Bard smiled at her. “I like that, too.”

Sigrid was thoughtful. _“Ada,_ can I ask you something?”

“Anything, _Iellig._ What is it?”

“What will happen with Rhian, when she has to leave the Healing Halls? Will she go to the Visitor’s Wing?”

“I would think so, but that would be for Lady Hilda to decide. She oversees such things. Why do you ask?”

Sigrid brow furrowed. “I’m just a little worried about her, that’s all.”

Bard considered his oldest daughter for a moment, then said, “Is eone finished with their food? All right, Bain, you clear the table for Galion, and Tilda, you wipe off the table and chairs, all right?”

“But, Da! We just got here!” Bain protested.

“My Lord, it is not necessary –“ Galion started.

Bard leveled his son with a stern stare. “You children will help Galion after the meals, is that clear? You will help, with no complaints, and you will behave.”

“Yes, Da,” they said.

“And that goes especially for you, _Ada._ Don’t you spoil them, or you know what Hilda will do to you. The same for you, too, Galion.”

He looked at Sigrid, “Thranduil and I need to go to the infirmary and check on Rhian and Daeron. You should probably come, too.”

They got up, “I’ll see you kids later,” he kissed Tilda, and ruffled Bain’s hair. After Thranduil did the same, they headed toward the entrance to the apartment.

He heard Tilda whisper, “Galion, what will Hilda do to Thranduil?”

“I do not know, Lady Tilda, but I am sure it is not pleasant.”

Bain’s voice could be heard. “You got that right. You do NOT want her mad at you!”

 

As the two Kings and Sigrid walked through the halls, Bard asked his daughter. “All right, what’s going on with Rhian?”

“That’s just it. I’m new at this, and I’m the first one to admit it. But something tells me… I don’t know,” she waved her hand. “Never mind. I’m just being silly.”

“No, _Iellig,_ I do not think you are silly. If your instinct is telling you something, you probably should heed it. Please tell us what you are thinking, Sigrid.” Thranduil asked.

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. When we were in the wagon, she just didn’t seem like she cared about what was going on. She didn’t care about anything. I hope the baby will help, but what if it doesn’t?”

Thranduil looked worried, as he considered her words. “Thank you, _Iellig._ You are right to talk to us about this.  Rhian is still in a healing sleep, I believe, but we will know more, when we get to the Healing Halls.”

“I’m proud of you, my girl, for what you did yesterday.” Bard put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her hair. “I’m not going to tell you to stop being concerned about others, Sigrid,” Bard stopped and faced her fully. “I don’t expect that. Just make sure to always tell someone who has been trained to deal with these things, all right?  You can feel compassion for her, and that’s admirable, but she’s not your responsibility. She’s got serious problems, and they must be handled by the ones who are trained to do it.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Da. It would easy to get caught up, but if I don’t know what I’m doing, I could make it worse. I still want to help, though.”

“Of course, you do, darling. For things like this, though, be sure and check in with Hannah or the Healer if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, promise?” When she nodded yes, he smiled. “That’s my girl.”

The three of them walked to the entrance to the Healing Hall, and went in. The last room on the left was where Rhian was still sleeping, peacefully, with Elénaril at her side.

“How is she?” Bard asked her. “Where is the child?”

“Hannah has taken the infant to the wet nurse for feeding, My Lord.” The Elven healer sighed with a worried look. “She has a fever, and we have watched her closely. I am concerned, My Lord. A mother’s body will always protect and nourish the child first, even among Elves. If the mother does not have much strength, the child will take it, and she will have little left for herself.” Elénaril turned to Thranduil. “I am glad you are here, Sire. I had planned to send for you.”  
Thranduil asked. “Why is that?”

“Her body… does not want to get well. She has been in such a weakened and depressed state, I fear that her body may not heal itself quickly enough. I do not know if this is the cause of her fever, or if there is some material that has not left her at the birth. This can happen with human females. In the world of Men, if this is the case, there would be nothing they could do; she would grow sicker, and die a painful death, from the fever and toxicity.”

“You think I could heal these wounds.”

Elénaril nodded. “She requires more than I can give her at this time, My Lord. I have used much of my strength to see to the patients from Dale, and I fear I cannot help her.  I ask you to try, My King; you are the most powerful Elf in the Woodland Realm, and I believe you could do this.”

Thranduil looked to Bard for his opinion. “She’s been hurting far too long.” Bard said. “She’s suffered enough. Please try.”

“Of course.” He moved past Sigrid and Bard and stepped over to the other side of the bed.

Elénaril turned to Sigrid, “Hannah stayed here with her and the babe all night and she’s exhausted. Please go to the baby at wet-nurse, and then send Hannah to rest. Please close the door behind you, and tell the others we are not to be disturbed for any reason.”

Sigrid nodded and left, then the Healer turned to Bard. “Sigrid tells me you have a sensitivity to these matters. If you become uncomfortable, you must step out quickly and quietly, My Lord.”

Bard nodded. “It’s the sight of blood that I have a tough time with, but you have my word I’ll do as you say, regardless.”

“Thank you. Shall we begin? Lord Bard, we need you to become as calm and peaceful as you can.” Elénaril closed her eyes, and began to concentrate.

Thranduil closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Bard could feel, from their bond, his husband center himself. Eyes still closed, Thranduil began to quietly sing, as he placed his hands on Rhian’s belly. The language was Elvish, but it didn’t sound like Sindarin. Light began to shine in him, and around him, just as it shone when Bard’s headache was taken away.

But this was different. The light wasn’t brighter, but Bard felt the power flow through his husband. He watched, fascinated as the Elvenking’s expression become intense, as he continued to sing and chant. All his attention was riveted on Thranduil, and he couldn’t break away, because something was happening inside of him, too…

Bard was compelled to close his eyes, too. He breathed in deeply, allowing the sensations to flood him.  _I'm here, love. Let me help..._   He sent these thoughts to Thranduil, repeating the phrase in his mind over and over, sending his Elf strength.

There was Thranduil, he could “see” his hands, searching deep inside for wounds. He could see and feel where his husband was probing. There was Rhian’s womb, swollen and misshapen from the birth. Blood was flowing, yes, but oddly, he felt no anxiety. He saw Thranduil examine her carefully, looking for traces of the afterbirth. There was a small piece still there, near the top. Thranduil somehow pulled it free, and worked it down and out of her.

 _Thank the Valar…_   Bard thought, eyes still closed.

Now that Rhian was restored, they were finished. Thranduil song was coming to an end, and Bard began to open his eyes...

Until Thranduil paused.

 

***************

 

The Elvenking saw and felt the light inside him. With his hands, he used the light to see inside the girl. Bard was there with him, combining their strength, as Thranduil carefully explored, looking for anything amiss. He didn’t know how a human female should be, but that didn’t matter. Rhian, although fast asleep, was the one who could show him what was amiss, so he stilled his mind and listened carefully. He was speaking with the girl’s body, and it was guiding him to where he needed to be. Bard was still with him, as he moved his hands over her.

 _Here. It hurts here..._  she told him. He looked, and there it was, the source of fever. He gently, and painstakingly removed it from the wall of her womb, and freed it from her body. Then he returned to the place where the purulent wound was and sang to it, knitting the flesh, until it looked pink and healthy, instead of angry, and inflamed. During all this, he had felt Bard’s silent comfort and support, throughout. Thranduil slowed his song, and stopped, but –

 _Please…_   His _fëa_ heard.   _Please, help me... It hurts…_

The Elvenking stood up straight and opened his eyes.

“Thranduil, what’s wrong?” Bard looked at him.

The Healer looked at them both with concern.

“My Lord? Were you able to help her?” Elénaril asked.

Thranduil’s brow furrowed, “Yes. The infected piece has left her, and she should heal normally.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Then the Healer searched his face, “You are still concerned.”

“There is something else. Her body cries out, but not from where she carried her child.”

Elénaril sighed, disappointed in herself. “Forgive me, My King. I have been much occupied, since we arrived with my other patients, and we only believed her problems were due to the pregnancy. This is the first time I have been able to truly examine her fully, as she shrank from almost e touch. I only thought it was the fever that needed to be addressed. I am sorry.”

“Do not be. You are thorough, and I am confident you would have found the problem, once the danger had passed. Have you rested since we arrived?”

“No, My Lord.” Elénaril looked extremely tired. “I have been here since we came, and one patient had a difficult night. I’ve extended Daeron’s healing sleep until tomorrow, but I believe he will be fine.”

Thranduil turned to his husband and asked him, “How do you feel, Bard?” He searched the Bowman’s face for signs of fatigue, and found little.

Bard answered him. “Fine. Why?”

“I need to search further to find the cause of her pain. Elénaril is too fatigued to do a thorough search for injuries, and I am going to do it. If we can please concentrate as we did before, I will attempt to help her, with your help.”

“Absolutely, Thranduil, whatever you need.”

The Elvenking turned to the Healer, “When we are finished, you are to put your Assistant in charge, and get some sleep yourself, is that clear?”

Elénaril nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

Once again, Thranduil centered himself with cleansing breaths, as the room became quiet. The song began again, as Thranduil lightly ran his hands over her, eyes closed. He pulled deeper into his _fëa,_ as he searched. He ran his fingers over her skull and her neck, and heard nothing, but her left shoulder cried out to him when he touched it.

There was angry red inflammation, where the bone went into the socket. A ligament had been torn.  He rested his hands there and sent the healing light, restoring the damaged tissue. Bard joined him, adding to his efforts, making the process easier.

When that was done, Thranduil paused, listening carefully. Was that it?

No. There was more.

Her other arm, and her legs were carefully checked, but there was nothing. Rhian’s abdominal organs were good, so he moved his hands up to her ribcage…

 _Here... It hurts here… Please…_  Thranduil heard and felt Bard’s gasp, when he saw it, too.

Three of Rhian’s ribs had been broken, on her left side. The uppermost fracture was displaced and had not healed properly; one jagged edge sitting down, close to her lung. They would have to rebreak it to set it right, and it had to be done carefully, or he would puncture her lung and possibly kill her.

He felt Bard’s consternation at the wound, but now was not to time to lose concentration.   _Meleth nîn, you must remain calm and peaceful. Be strong with me and for me,_ he called to his husband.

Thranduil took a few cleansing breaths, and he felt Bard doing this as well.   _That is good, Meleth nîn. We are ready…_   Without opening his eyes, he whispered out loud, “Put your hands atop mine, Bard.”

Now, he physically could feel him.   _Deep breath, in and out…_ Sending a prayer to the Valar, begging them for strength and guidance, he, with Bard’s help, broke the rib again, and he could see, hear, and feel the loud crack. He paused to restore his concentration. This was going to be complicated, as each piece had to be held together precisely and completely immobile, as the bone joined together. One edge had to be lifted, while the other lowered into place.   _In and out… Concentrate…_

 _Meleth nîn…_  He appealed to his husband, using feelings, not words.

 _I am here…_ Was his answer, as his presence flowed through the Elf.

Summoning as much inside him as he could, he began his song in a louder, firmer voice as together, they carefully forced the bones into place and held them.  Once set, Thranduil sent healing light to the bones to become one again. It was a long, arduous process. Flesh is a challenge to heal, and it is soft and pliable. Bones are dense, and require immense energy and patience, to knit back together. If he let the bones shift, even a little, Rhian could be worse off than when they started.

He began to tire. He lost his concentration for a second or two, as he felt pain in his face; his glamour had started to fall. Bard felt it, and managed to send him even more, to keep it up. Thranduil’s hands shook, but he could not let the bones move. Bard squeezed his hands carefully, sending comfort to him.  

 _Take as much as you need, love. We can do this... I am here..._ They continued on together, holding the bone perfectly still, as the two pieces became one again.

Finally, _finally,_ it was done, and healed perfectly. Thranduil listened, cautiously, for a few moments, but Rhian’s body no longer cried out. Slowly, he came back to himself and opened his eyes. Bard was doing the same, with fatigue on his face, but also wonder.

Elénaril set a chair behind Thranduil. “Please sit, My King.” She quickly grabbed his arm and helped him down. “Lord Bard, there is a chair behind you, as well. Sit. Right now.”

After they were seated, she poured them both a glass of water, which they took and drank gratefully. Then Thranduil gazed at his husband, over the sleeping form of their patient. “Are you all right?” The Elvenking asked, worried.

Bard looked spent, elbows in his knees, with his face in his one hand, clutching his water glass with the other. “I will be, love. Just give me a minute or two...”

The Healer disagreed. “I am afraid you will need more than that, My Lord. I am ordering you both back to your chambers immediately and you will rest, for six hours, at least. I would like to see you both later this day,” Elénaril ordered. “Especially you, King Bard.”

Thranduil helped Bard get up, “And I, Elénaril, order the same for you. I thank you for your dedication and attention to the people of Dale.”

Bard seconded the compliment. “Thank you."

The Healer nodded, modestly, and went to arrange for her rest.

Wearily, they went into their bedchamber, removed their clothing, and crawled into the bed. “Thank you, _Meleth nîn,_ for your help. I could have damaged her further…”

“Thranduil, what in the world _happened_ in that room?  How was I able to do that?” As tired as Bard was, he wanted answers.

“I cannot say. I do not understand it myself, but I am grateful that you followed your instinct. Perhaps Mithrandir could explain? When we get up, we must ask him.”

“Are he and Bilbo still here?” Bard pulled up the blankets, as he began to settle himself.

“They are. They will be staying for another week or so. Beorn invited them to winter with him, before crossing the Misty Mountains in the spring.”

Crawling over into the crook of Thranduil’s arm, he laid his head on the Elvenking’s shoulder. “I haven’t had much chance to talk to Beorn,” he said in a soft, weary voice. “He seems a good sort.”

“He is.” Thranduil yawned. “He loves the living things in our forest, and he is fiercely protective if them.”

Bard snickered, as he nuzzled the crook of Thranduil’s neck. “I wouldn’t want him mad at me, though. His bear is even more terrifying than Hilda when she gets angry.”

Eyes closed, Thranduil smiled. “ _No one_ is as frightening as Lady Hilda, when she gets angry.”

“I stand corrected.” Bard mumbled, as he cuddled into him a little more, and soon, they were deeply asleep.

 

It was mid-afternoon, before Thranduil awoke, to see the stars sparkle on the ceiling of his chambers.  Bard had rolled over and was on his side, facing away from him, still fast asleep, softly snoring, which the Elvenking thought was adorable. He leaned down to kiss his shoulder, and got out of bed, stretching.  
 

After using the necessary, he drank some water from the pitcher on the sideboard, then dressed and went out into the corridor.

Tilda and Bain were walking toward their apartments, accompanied by a guard.

“Hello, children!”

“Hi, Thranduil! Is Da awake yet?” Bain asked. “Can we see him?”

“He is still asleep. I am sorry your Da and I were so tired today, but he needed to help me with an important matter. I know you want to spend time with him before he goes back to Dale, so I am going to ask that he stay another day.” At the eagerness on the two faces, he cautioned. “I do not know if he can, but I will ask him. If he cannot, you must not be upset.”

“I’ll try,” said Tilda, frowning.

The children went into their apartments, while Thranduil stepped into his study, to check on some things. Galion had organized the work he needed to catch up on into neat piles. It could wait. He wanted to be with his husband, while he was here. Galion was in the adjoining room, at his desk.

“Good afternoon, My Lord. Shall I get you something to eat?”

“Yes, I would appreciate it. Bard is still asleep, but he will want something when he wakes up.”  
Galion got up, and bowing to him, he exited.

Thranduil went back into his chambers, and checked on Bard, who was just beginning to stir. He sat down on the bed, and kissed him, when the Bowman sat up and stretched, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

“How do you feel?” Thranduil asked him.

“Better. Still knackered, but I want to be with the children, while I can.”

“I agree, _Meleth nîn._ As to your fatigue, I think you should spend another day recovering, before you try to make such a long trip.” He stroked through Bard’s black curls, smiling.

“I think I could, but no more than that. Percy’s expecting me, and I don’t want to leave the city too long. He’ll be frantic when I don’t show up tomorrow, and think something’s happened.”

“Feren will go as scheduled, with the supply carts. He can tell Percy of your delay, so he will not worry.”

“Can you? Aye, let’s do that. If there’s any problem with me gone, Feren can help him sort it out, too, and I’ll feel better the day after tomorrow.” He kissed Thranduil once more, then got up to take care of personal matters and get dressed. “Is there anything to eat?”

“It is coming. Bain and Tilda are back in their rooms. Shall I get them?”

“In a minute. Should I be worried about Sigrid finding out about what happened with Rhian? I honestly don’t understand it myself.”

I asked Elénaril and the Chief Healers not to say anything to Sigrid about our situation, shortly before we were married. I trust her discretion.”

Bard shook his head, and gritted his teeth. “How was that bastard allowed to get away with that? Her father was with her in the camp! Didn’t he see all the marks on her, and the pain she was in? How could any parent turn a blind eye like that? No wonder that girl felt alone!”

“I am afraid we will never know the answers to that, Bard. You can only learn from this, and perhaps you can prevent such abuse in your Kingdom.”

Bard sighed. “Aye, your right, love.”

Galion came in with their food, then, and so did Tilda, carrying Charlotte. Bain had gone to visit some friends, so Tilda enjoyed the attention, sitting between her fathers. She was excited, because Galion was going to take her with him to his study and give her paper and pencils so she can draw pictures, and he had some children’s books in Westron for her to read.

After sending her on her way with the Chief Aide, they went to the Healing Halls, once again.

 

***************

 

Sigrid was changing the baby on a table in a treatment room, when they came in. “Hi! Just a minute, please.” She finished fastening the clout on the baby. The boy was his waving his fists, and kicking his legs, screaming in fury. “He hates being changed,” Sigrid grinned.

“So did you, as I recall.” Bard told her. As soon as the girl put him on another small blanket, and swaddled him tightly, he began to settle down, although he still fussed some. Bard motioned to take the baby, and she handed him over. “Hello there, Little Man. Have you been giving my girl a hard time?” The infant stopped to listen to the sound of his voice, and looked up at him, wide eyed and blinking, then began to suck on one of his fists.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder, at the child. “He is enchanting.”

“All babies are, love, and that’s exactly the way it should be.” Bard grinned, then he asked his daughter. “Is Rhian awake?”

Sigrid’s face lost its smile. “Aye. You need to speak with Elénaril about it. I’ll stay here with him.” She cooed to the infant, then sat down on a chair.

They found the Healer, checking on a patient from Dale. She quietly stepped out of the room, and closed the door.

“Did you both rest?” she asked them.

“Yes, did you?” Bard asked. “You looked as exhausted as I felt, Elénaril.”

“I did, My Lord, thank you for asking. Now, I am concerned, once more, about Rhian.”

“What is amiss?” the Elvenking asked.

“My Lord, she refuses to see the infant. She is afraid to become attached, if King Bard should take him away. I tried to reassure her, but she became agitated.”

Bard looked at Thranduil with a determined look. “Right. Let’s get this settled.”

Elénaril said to Bard quietly, “Two things, My Lord: Firstly, _you will_ be gentle and patient with her, and not upset her, is that clear?  Secondly, when you are finished, I will thoroughly examine you.  Your condition is unique, and I need to be sure your physical body has not been badly affected by using your _fëa_ to heal the girl.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine – “

“And we will make sure of that, My Lord. No arguments.” Elénaril informed him.

Bard looked at Thranduil, who said, “She is right _Hervenn nîn._ As soon as we are finished, we will be examined,” and said to Elénaril, “but I do not want Sigrid present, and she is not to know the extent of Bard’s participation.”

“Yes, Sire. And one more thing,” she added. “Rhian still has difficulty being touched; especially by men; so, you will respect that.”

The two Kings looked at each other with a combination of fury and sadness, then nodded to the Healer, before she went back to work.

“You know, I wish Garth were still alive. I want to kill that bastard myself, slowly and painfully.” Bard’s jaw was set. They stopped, while the King of Dale sought to calm himself. Anger was justifiable, but inflicting it upon this young girl would be cruel.

He felt Thranduil’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in encouragement. “I understand, _Meleth nîn._ But we must be stronger and better than that animal that was her husband, yes?”

Bard sighed. “That could be our Sigrid lying there, so broken… All these young girls are my responsibility, and I can’t allow this. I won’t.”

The Elvenking sympathized. “When an Elf is raped, it kills the _fëa,_ causing them to fade, did you know that?   Perhaps, a part of Rhian has died, as well, or is hidden away so deeply, that it seems so.  But she has advantages, Bard.  She is human, and she lives, plus she has you as her King.  Come, let us help to heal her heart, just as we healed her body.”  He took Bard by the hand and led him forward.

Again, they made their way into the last room on the left. Rhian’s eyes were closed, resting, so Bard quietly sat down in the chair beside the bed, while Thranduil stood behind him. She was a lovely girl, and her long dark hair that had been freshly washed, but she looked lost and unhappy. Her cheeks finally had some color in them, because she could breathe easier, but there were still dark circles under her eyes, and she looked gaunt.

“Rhian, it’s time to wake up.” Bard said, gently.

The girl’s eyes blinked open, and she turned toward them. When she saw the two Kings, she jumped with fright, eyes wide.

Before she had a chance to speak, Bard said gently, “Rhian, please be calm. You are perfectly safe. I promise, no one will hurt you. You’re still recovering, but I need to talk with you, all right?”

She didn’t say anything; just stared at them, wide-eyed, as she nodded, ever so slightly.

“We need to speak of the night of the fires. I know Daeron told you that you will face no punishment, and that is true, but I must know the truth of what happened. Can you do that, for me? I promise you on my oath as your King, no one will hurt you, but I must know the absolute truth.”

She sank back in her pillows a little bit, and nodded again.

“Now, there are some things I’m sure of, and some things I think I can guess. I’m going to ask you some questions, Rhian, and you must answer me honestly, do you understand?” He asked her kindly, but firmly.

“Yes, I will.” Her face didn’t just look tired, it looked weary and hopeless.

Bard recognized that look; her eyes were like Tilda’s after the battle, blank and lifeless. His throat tightened, and he swallowed, hard a few times, but then continued.

“Now, let’s start with what I know. The night the Dragon came, you were pregnant, and the one who helped you, was Old Ben. He has said that he was the only one in the boat when he came to you. Am I right, so far?”

She nodded yes, her face and eyes still blank; she was still shut down.

“No one else?” Bard asked, his voice still patient and gentle.

“No, My Lord. Some people got in, outside of the town. They were swimming, and they would have died. They would have frozen to death.”

“Just you and Ben.”

“Yes, Sire. But I didn’t –“

Bard raised his hand to stop her. “That’s all right. We'll just take this one step at a time.  Now, I’m going to tell you what I think happened. I need the truth, but please don’t be afraid, Rhian. I think you might have the wrong idea about that night, but I can only know for sure, if you tell me what I need to know.” He waited for her nod of agreement. “Garth was not in the pub, when the Dragon came, am I right?”

The girl and lowered her eyes, and her lips trembled. “I’m sorry My Lord. I lied, and told Old Ben he was still there.”

“He was in your house then?”

She nodded, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Was he awake?”

“No, My Lord.”

“Rhian, I’ve talked to some of the other folk of Dale and they said Garth was ‘in his cups’ a lot, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but –“

“Just take it one step at a time, please.” Bard reminded her, oh, so gently. “Just answer my questions and no more.”

“Yes. He liked his drink.”

“So, Garth was drunk a lot, wasn’t he?” 

Rhian nodded, wiping her cheek, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“And he would hurt you, when he was drunk, am I right?”

The girl closed her eyes tight, and nodded again.

“I see. Did he do that often?”

Rhian turned her head away from them for several minutes.  Then she whispered.  “It was worse when he was drinking.”

Bard felt Thranduil's hand grip his shoulder tightly, and strength and calm flow from the Elvenking.  He looked up at Thranduil in thanks, and continued with his interrogation.

“On the night the Dragon came, he beat you, didn’t he? You had been badly hurt, and covered in bruises, we know this. And Garth did that?”

Still looking at the wall, she nodded, and her lips trembled. “It was hard to breathe, and my side hurt, all the time.”

“Your injuries have all been recorded, and they have been healed. Do you feel pain now? Can you take a deep breath?”

“I can breathe much better, and it doesn't hurt anymore.” She considered. “I think my arm feels better, too.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. That will help you get better a lot sooner.” He smiled and paused for a moment, before continuing with the interrogation. “But that night in Laketown, your husband was drunk, wasn’t he? Did he pass out?”

“Aye, he did.”

“Could you have woken him, if he passed out, like that?”

The girl took a moment to consider, then said, “I don’t think so. We could have carried him, though.”

“Rhian, you know Old Ben is not as strong as he used to be, don’t you? He manages to get around, and we see him with a cane, sometimes, don’t we? And that night, you had all those injuries, plus, you were pregnant.  Do you see what I’m getting at? Even if you _had_ told Ben where your husband was, you couldn’t have gotten him out, unconscious like that.  There was no way to save Garth.”

“But I lied to Ben! I’m a murderer!” she cried.

“Look at me, Rhian, please.” Bard waited patiently for her to meet his gaze. It took a few moments, and a great deal of effort on her part; he could see that. But, he needed her to know the truth, and he needed her to believe him, and trust him.

"Rhian, even if you _had_ been strong enough, and _even if_ Ben could have helped, there was no time to carry your husband down the stairs and through your house. It would have taken a long time, love. Time you simply didn’t have.  You all would’ve died, Rhian, you, Ben, and your baby.  Those people who got into your boat later, could have died, too.

Bard leaned forward a tiny bit, and told her again, willing her to believe him. “Rhian, you saved lives by telling Ben he wasn’t there, can you understand that?"

Her breathing became shallow and rapid. “B-But it doesn’t matter! I didn’t want him to come!”

Bard sat back in the chair, steepled his fingers to his lips, and studied her face. “Tell me the truth Rhian; did you _actually think about_  killing him, or did you simply want the beatings to stop?”

“I didn’t w-want him to hurt me anymore. I was afraid he would h-hurt the baby.” She was shaking visibly, and crying now.

"What you did was based on instinct, not murder. Do you understand the difference?  You are a mother, and you had just seconds to choose between an innocent life, and a man who would have killed you.”

At her puzzled look, Bard explained. “Men who beat women, Rhian, don’t stop. They never, ever do. Make no mistake, if the Dragon had never come, Garth _would have_ eventually killed you.  If you had gotten him out, and you two had come to Dale, he wouldn't have stopped hurting you.  You would, in the end, be dead, and who would protect your child?  Garth put _himself_ in that drunken state that night, and that’s not your fault, is it?  You did the right thing, love.”

Rhian considered this. “So, I didn’t murder him.”

Bard gave her a reassuring mile. “No, Rhian, you didn’t. Do you trust me?”

She paused, then said, “Yes, My Lord,” quietly, her eyes still overflowing.

“As your King, Rhian, I'll do my best to make sure no one hurts you, or any other young woman like that, again. You don’t have to worry anymore. You're safe, now.  I know it will take a long time for you to really believe it, but you are.

“Now, as to the pardon I promised you: there will be none, because you don’t need one. As King of Dale, I hereby declare you innocent of any crime.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Rhian looked relieved, and she stopped shaking, but she was still was overcome.

Bard continued.  “As you know, I must be in Dale, this winter, but I’m putting you under the care of King Thranduil here, who is a powerful ruler. While you are in his Palace, you and your child will be under his personal protection.”

The Elvenking stepped forward and smiled, “That is correct, My Lady. As long as you are within my borders, you have my solemn promise that I will keep you and your son from all harm, and you are both to receive the best care that can be provided.”

Bard watched the girl begin to sob with relief, and the Kings sat patiently, and let her cry it out.  He was finding it difficult not to shed a few tears himself, to be honest.   Thranduil squeezed his shoulder once more, and looked up at his Elf, who was smiling down at him, proudly.

When she at last calmed herself, Bard laughed a little, “Lucky thing for you, King Thranduil is here. He always keeps a handkerchief on him.” He winked at the Elvenking, who handed it over, and waited for her to wipe her face.

“There... that looks better. Do you feel a little better, now?”

She nodded.

“Well that’s good, because I’ve got to talk to you about that son of yours. Do you know the boy has been fussed over by almost half the Palace already?  Seems these Elves love babies, and are crawling all over each other to take a peek at him, and I don’t blame them.”  Bard watched the young girl’s eyes light up, then he said, “As much as your boy likes all that attention, I think he really wants to meet his Mam. So, what do you say, Rhian, can he meet you?”

Rhian allowed herself a little smile. “Can I?”

“Of course, you can! Now, blow your nose again, and settle back, make yourself comfortable.  He’s a handsome little man, but you don’t have to take my word for it; let’s bring him in, and you can see for yourself.”

Bard looked to the Elvenking, who left to fetched the boy. A moment later he returned, carrying the now-sleeping infant into the room, and Bard saw the young girl gasp, and her eyes widen.

“Oh, that’s him…” she whispered putting both hands over her mouth.  

The Elvenking bowed formally, and said, “Rhian of Dale, it is my honor, to present your son.  I wish you both much joy.”

Bard stood up, and got out of the way, as Thranduil stepped over to her and placed him in her arms.

Just like this newborn had held the Palace under his spell, he now worked his magic on his own mother, as her face was filled with amazement, love, and hope.  She traced his face lightly with her fingers, and shed a few more tears, but these were of joy and wonder.

"Oh... He's so beautiful..." She looked up at Bard, “Thank you so much, My Lord,” she cried, relieved.  Then her eyes fell back to her son, mesmerized, as she examined his tiny fingers.

“Of course, he’s all yours, Rhian.” Bard reached town to stroke the boy’s cheek. “He belongs to you and no one will ever take him away from you, I promise.  I want you to just concentrate on getting better, so you can take good care of this little man, all right?”

She looked up at the two Kings, and nodded, smiling a genuine smile. Bard was taken aback at the change in her face, and in her countenance. She truly was lovely, when the burdens of the world could fall away from her.  He couldn’t help but think of his own daughters, and he felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him, as he took in the sight of mother and son.

He smiled at Thranduil, and knew his husband was thinking the same thing. Together, they watched the scene for another moment, then quietly stepped out.

Bard would have many, many days when Kingship would be a burden, but moments like this made it all worthwhile.

 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_A, Meleth nîn, Mae ad limp mi gin… Ritho! No lagor!_ – Oh, yes, my love, it is so hot and wet inside… Harder! Faster!

 _Hervenn nîn_ – My husband

 _Meleth nîn_ – My love

 _Fëa_ \- spirit

 _Tithen Pen_ \- Little One

 _Iellig_ \- My daughter


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the family shares a pleasant evening together in front of the fireplace, Bard comes up with an idea.  
> Before the supply caravan leaves for Dale, Feren comes up with an idea.  
> Which gives Thranduil an idea.  
> Then the he visits his guard Daeron, and together they go visit Rhian, who had an idea.
> 
> Afterwards, Thranduil goes to see Gandalf, who doesn’t have an idea, but has some interesting things to say...

 

 

That evening was spent in the Royal Chambers with the children. Bard was content to watch his family, etching this scene into his memory, to take back with him to Dale. This room was a far cry from Laketown, and even their rooms in the Castle in Dale had a makeshift feel about them. These chambers held a permanence that he found soothing, with the warmth and light from the fireplace, sitting on the comfortable couches, while the kids and Thranduil told each other stories about themselves, was perfect. At this moment, he didn’t think it was possible to be happier.

Thranduil’s rapport with the children was relaxed and natural, and for that, Bard was supremely grateful. They were learning to love him, and depend on him, and his affection for them was turning into the deep, lasting, parental love they deserved. His family was complete, in a way he had never dared hope for.

“Thrandool?” Tilda pointed to the pictures on the mantel piece. “Is that Tauriel when she was little? And that’s Legolas, right?”

“Yes, they are, _Tithen pen._ Do you like them?”

Sigrid looked up at where Tilda was pointing, “Oh, they were so cute!”

Tilda laughed a little. “Look at how big their ears were! Are all Elf babies like that?”

“Yes, _hênig,_ most of our children’s ears are bigger, compared to humans, and as they ‘grow into them.’” Thranduil laughed. “Legolas did not like his ears, at all. Galion and I tried to tell him he is a Sindarin Elf, and his ears are smaller than a Silvan Elf, but that did not make him feel better.”

“Well, I like them.” Tilda assured him. “What’s he doing in the picture?”

“Legolas had just climbed up one of his favorite trees, and sat on a lower limb, and was very proud of himself. He was as fond of climbing as I was, at his age.”

Thranduil got up and took the two frames off the mantle and carried them to the couch, so Tilda and the others could see up close. Legolas was sitting, leaning his head back on the trunk of the tree, with his eyes closed, enjoying his accomplishment.

Bain leaned over to see. “Looks like Tauriel likes deer.” The other frame held a sketch of a young Tauriel petting the neck of a fawn, with the doe, looking on.  Her eyes were wide with wonder and delight, and so was her smile.

“You’re right; Tauriel’s ears are bigger. He didn’t have much to complain about, did he?” Bard said.

The Elvenking smiled again. “That’s true. The irony is Tauriel always loved the size of her ears.”

“Who drew these?” Sigrid asked.

Bard was surprised when his husband replied, “I did, many years ago. I am glad you like them.”

“You did these? And the one by our closet?” Bard asked him.

Thranduil nodded. It is a diversion of mine, when I can spare the time. I find it relaxing.”

The portraits were very well done, and had captured the likeness of their subjects wonderfully.

Thranduil nodded at Bard, and smiled at Tilda. “Maybe this winter, if you can sit still, I shall draw your picture. Would you like that?”

“That would be great!” She threw her arms out wide, and hugged him. “You could draw Sigrid and Bain, too, and send them to Da, and then he wouldn’t miss us, so much.”

“That is a very clever idea, _Tithen Pen._ You are kind to worry about your Da.”

“I _am_ worried about him.  He’s never been apart from us, and I worry about him being too lonely’” Sigrid, was sitting on the floor, leaning against Bard’s knees.

He looked down at his daughter, trying to reassure her with a smile. Then Bard asked his husband, “Can you draw portraits from memory? I know you made wonderful drawings of Dale, but people’s faces can be difficult.”

“I can do both. It is a skill I have practiced for many years, although I have not done it in a long time. I look forward to picking it up, again.”

Sigrid looked at the drawings again. “I would love to learn how to draw like that. I’ll need to, if I am to keep good notes, as a healer.”

“Do not worry, you shall learn. But you must take time to be a girl, and spend time with your friends. That is important for all of you. There are spaces in the palace to run and play, and I expect you all to work hard on your studies, but I also wish you to be active and have fun.”

Bain looked encouraged. “There was never much space to run around in Laketown. My Da would take me shooting sometimes on the shore, but that was just him and me. When we got to Dale, me and the boys could only go out on sunny days, and even then, it was cold.”

“The boys and _I,”_ Bard corrected. “Do you have any indoor games the kids could learn, Thranduil?”

“We do. And because you all behaved well during your trip, there is the gift I promised you, but you must wait until after your Da leaves. It is a surprise.”

This got all the children’s attention, and soon they were begging the Elvenking for hints, but he would not give them any. They even tried to get a hint from Bard, but he shrugged his shoulders and told them he had no idea, either, which made them all groan.

Bard studied his husband thoughtfully. Perhaps, after he left for Dale, another problem could be solved. An idea was beginning to form in his mind, but he needed to check something with Galion, first…

He excused himself for a moment, and went to see if his idea would be possible.

 

When he came back in, the children were still sitting there, and Thranduil was telling them a story about when Legolas was small, and he tried to ride his Ada’s Elk, though he been told many times not to.

“Your Elk was scary! I wouldn’t go near him!” Tilda said.

“This was a different Elk, _Tithen Pen._ An ancestor to _Bara-Maethor._ They are only scary to my enemies. But still, he was much too big and strong for Legolas to try to ride.”

“What happened?”

“Legolas went into forest where the Elk was, climbed up on a tree and jumped on his back. He tried to ride him, but _Lavan-Dagor_ refused to cooperate with my young son. He simply took him back to the Palace, and right through the Main Doors. When Legolas tried to jump down, _Lavan-Dagor_ turned and growled at him.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t mean.” Tilda said.

“He was not mean. He could make loud, mean noises, because that is what he did in battle, but this time, he wanted to make sure I found out what my son was up to.”

Bard stood away from the scene, leaning against the doorframe and listening. His heart felt full at the sight.

“What does _'_ _Lavan-Dagor'_ mean?” Bain asked him.

“It means War Beast, _Authon nîth.”_ He smiled down at their son.

“You keep naming your Elks scary names!” Tilda pouted. “And what does _'_ _Authon nîth'_ mean?”

“It is something that makes me think of your brother. It means ‘Young Warrior.’”

“I like it! Da? Did you hear that?” Bain said proudly. “I’m an _‘Authon_ _nîth’_ in Elvish.”

“I heard. And to be specific, the language is Sindarin, which you all will be learning, as will I.” Bard said, as he came over to the couch and sat down with the family. “You’ll be getting lessons while you’re here, and you’ll be hearing it spoken, so I don’t doubt you’ll learn fast.”

“Your Da is right, children, you will learn it quickly. If someone is speaking Sindarin to you too quickly, ask them to slow down, and always remember to ask if you don’t understand something. That is the best way to learn any new language.” Thranduil said. “You children will have an easier time learning it than your father, because you are so young. Especially you, Tilda.”

“Me?”

“Yes, little children can learn several languages at once, _Tithen Pen.”_

“I already know what that means, Thrandool. It means ‘Little One.’” Tilda thought for a moment. “Sigrid calls you _Ada,_ now. What does that mean?”

Bard answered for his husband. “It means ‘Da.’”

Tilda looked thoughtful, and nothing was said. Bard and Thranduil had agreed at the outset of their marriage, to allow the children to call him what they were comfortable with. As long as they were respectful, and used his title properly in public, it was fine. Terms of endearment must come naturally, and never be forced.

“It’s time for you Sea Monsters to get ready for your baths and bed. Sigrid, could you get Tilda in her bath, first? And Bain, you go after, and don’t fake it. I’ll be checking.” The children got up, moaning in consternation, but Bard was firm. “We’ll be in to say good night when the baths are done.”

As the children left to go to their apartment, Bard leaned on Thranduil and put his head on the Elf’s shoulder with a sigh. “I am still done in from this morning. I’d love nothing better than to drag you into bed and pounce on you, but I just don’t have it in me, love.”

“I am afraid I feel the same way. Perhaps in the morning. It has been a long and eventful day, _Meleth nîn._

They looked at the fire, blazing cheerfully. Bard told his Elf, “I love it here. This feels like a real home to me, even more than my house in Laketown did. After Mattie died, it was just… a place to live.”

Perhaps for you to feel at home, you need someone who loves you,” Thranduil smiled. “As for myself, I feel the same about my chambers, since we were wed.”

"Dale still feels so temporary, and it will take ages for the Castle to be finished. I won’t let them start on it, until everyone else in Dale is warm and dry. But, this place,” He waved his hand. “You made it home to me, too.”

Thranduil put his arm around Bard. “That is the highest of compliments, Bard.  I hope the children will think of it as their home, as well.  But, _Hervenn nîn,_ my home will always be wherever you are,” he said, as he nuzzled Bard’s neck.

“Life takes you by surprise, doesn’t it? Sometimes, I still can’t believe it, Thranduil. I’ve only been with you a month, and it feels so natural, and right. It’s all new, and it’s been forever, at the same time.”

“That is how I feel.” The Elvenking kissed him and sighed. “I do not want you to go. I have just gotten you, and I am losing you again.” Thranduil looked into his eyes, sadly, then shook his head, “Forgive me, _Meleth nîn._ I do not wish to make things more difficult; I am just fatigued.”

Bard swallowed. “I know, love. I’m going to hate it, without you. Without all of you…” He turned his head to look at those beautiful blue-grey eyes, so like the sea, and said firmly, “You were only saying what we both feel. Thranduil, you must always talk to me, promise? I know sometimes it’s hard for you, but I’ll always want to know what you are thinking and feeling, no matter what it is. I love you, and I need to know.”

The Elf sighed. “You are right. I promise.”

Bard kissed him again, then they relaxed back into the couch and enjoyed the warmth of each other. After a while, Bard sat up. “Let’s go say good night to the children, and get some sleep.”

They got up, and holding hands, went into the children’s apartment. Tilda was out of the tub, and Sigrid had braided her hair for the night. She was sitting on her bed, crossed-legged, putting Charlotte’s nightgown on, when they went into her room. “Hi, Da. We’re almost ready for bed. Are you going to tell me a story, Thrandool?”

“If you like, and if it is all right with your Da.” They both looked at Bard with pleading eyes.

Bard rolled his eyes, “Oh, you two... Make it a short one. I’m going to see what Bain is up to.”

Bain was already in bed, with damp hair, reading. “Hello, my boy. What are you reading?”

“Galion found me a book of stories about Silvan Elves.”

“Sounds good, hope you like it.” He searched his son’s face. “Are you comfortable here? Do you like it?” Bard asked him, as he sat down on the bed, facing him. “I know a lot has happened to us, Bain, and we’ve hardly had a chance to talk about it. Are you happy with all this?”

“I like it here so far, and I love this bed. Galion told me this was Legolas’s room. I hope he doesn’t mind me sleeping here.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.  He’ll be gone for quite a while.  You just take care of what you find here, and enjoy yourself.”

“Da? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, son. Anything.”

“You really love Thranduil, right? I mean, I know you loved Mam and all, but is it different, or the same?”

“Well, in a way it’s different, because he’s an Elf, and he’s a male. But, you love who you love, Bain. I would never marry anyone if I wasn’t in love. More important; I would _never ever_ marry him, if I wasn’t sure he’d be good to you kids.”

“But, what about Mam?”

Bard moved beside Bain on the bed, and put his arm around him. “Bain. I loved your mother, so much. And she loved me. I would’ve been happy to spend my whole life with her, believe me. But things just didn’t work out that way, and that was nobody’s fault. Life is like that, son: full of good and bad surprises.  When I fell in love with Thranduil, it didn’t take anything away from her, and I’m glad of it. I’ll always carry her in my heart, and that won’t change. I hope you do, too, Bain, because she loved you very much.”

“What about Legolas’s mother?” Bain asked.

“Thranduil loved his wife, every bit as much, and it’s the same for him. They are a part of us. Nothing we feel for each other will change that.” Bard hugged his son tighter. “And, most important, nothing I feel for _anyone_ could change the way I feel about you, or Sigrid, or Tilda. Never doubt that.”

Bain leaned his head against Bard’s shoulder. “I like Thranduil a lot.”

“I’m glad you do. He likes you, too. He thinks you’ll be a good man, and a better King than I am.”

“But you’re a great King! I could never be as good as you!”

Bard chuckled. “Oh, I promise you son, you’ll be a much better King, because you’ll have something I never got.”

“What’s that?”

“A chance to actually train for the job! Thranduil and I both had things kind of dumped on us, and I’m scrambling to do the best I can. Strictly speaking, I’m flying by the seat of my pants, and if Thranduil, Galion, Percy and Hilda weren’t helping me, I would be a disaster! But you, son, are going to have help, training, and an education that I can only dream of. Thranduil wants that for you just as much as I do.”

“Why would he want to help me, so much?”

Bard rubbed Bain’s shoulder. “Did you know that Thranduil knew Garon, the Founder of Dale? And he knew all the Kings of Dale, right up to Girion?” Bain shook his head, wide-eyed. “Well, he did. And he says he sees the same qualities of all those men in you. Maybe, over the winter, you could ask him about it. I’ll bet he’s got plenty of stories he could tell you, and maybe even some books about all of the Kings.”

Bain’s face lit up. “That would be great.”

Bard kissed his son’s temple and got up, saying, “Enjoy your book, but try to get some rest, yeah?”

“Love you, Da.”

As Bard reached the door of Bain’s room, Thranduil came in to say good night. “I hope you sleep well, Bain. We shall see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Thranduil. Thanks again for giving me Legolas’s room.”

“I am glad you like it.”

They closed Bain’s door, “Is Tilda asleep already?” Bard asked the Elf.

“Not yet, she’s waiting to kiss her Da good night.”

Thranduil sat on the couch in the common room, while Bard kissed their little one’s forehead. As he was shutting the door, Sigrid was coming out of the bathing room, in her robe and nightgown. She came and sat between them.

“Tired, darling? You’ve had a busy couple of days.” He put his arm around her as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I am, but I’m not; does that make sense? It’s all so different, here, and it’s beautiful, but it’s still strange. I’ll get used to it though.” She laughed. “Helping deliver a baby is a lot more than I was doing before, isn’t it? I’m glad I did it, but I don’t want to do things like that all the time, yet. I don’t think I’m ready.”

Thranduil looked at her with concern. “Did the birth upset you?”

“No. It was exciting and interesting, but only because Hannah and Daeron knew what was going on, and what to do. When the baby was being born, it was strangling, but Hannah didn’t get upset; she stayed calm, worked fast, and the baby lived. I’d need to train for years before I could do that, and I don’t want to rush myself. I could make a mistake, and someone could die.”

Bard said, “Good thinking, my girl. Before you can run, you must learn to walk. You also have the right to be young. You’re only fifteen, and there is so much else a young girl like you needs to learn.”

“I’ll be sixteen next month.” Sigrid reminded him.

Bard winced. “That you will. I can't believe it. You grew up faster than I could've imagined.” Then he winked. “Maybe you won’t have your birthday here.”

At Sigrid’s confused look, Bard explained. “Thranduil, has promised me you kids won’t get any older or bigger, so I don’t miss anything.” He smirked at his daughter and booped her nose.

“Oh, Da!” Sigrid rolled her eyes. “You look tired, so go to bed. I’m going to stay up and work on this sock for a while, then I’m headed there myself.”

As they got up, Thranduil kissed her cheek, and asked, “Who is the sock for, _Iellig?”_

“For Da. Auntie Hil taught me to knit, and I enjoy it; it helps calm my mind, and I relax, like when you draw, _Ada._ I like making them.”

“And I like wearing them.” Bard told her. “Nothing keeps my feet warmer. Sleep well, darling.”

“Good night, Da. Oh, and don’t worry. Before I go to bed, I’ll take care of Bain’s book and turn his lamp down, and pull up Tilda’s covers. You two look dead on your feet.”

Thranduil smiled down at her. “Thank you, Iellig.”

Sigrid was right. He was tired. They went into their bedchamber, and after taking off their clothes, they barely managed a few good night kisses and caresses, before they both were sound asleep.

 

***************

 

Thranduil and Bard woke up early, and, feeling much refreshed, made the most of their time alone. Good morning kisses quickly turned into ardor, and soon they were locked in a lover’s embrace. Thranduil loved the tight heat of his husband, and he looked down and watched, as Bard came undone under him. He loved everything he and Bard had done in bed, but this was his favorite. He couldn’t get enough of the sight of his Bowman’s face, eyes closed, gasping and moaning. All the noises he made brought out such feral, yet loving passion in Thranduil, only wanting to bring them to new heights, if it were possible. He couldn’t believe this beautiful man of Dale wanted him, and loved him. It was such a revelation, to find such happiness again.

He grunted, deep in his chest, his thrusts became harder, as he felt the urgency begin in his groin, and his muscles tense. Bard was meeting him with equal force. Crying out wordlessly, Bard took his cock in hand, stroking it, rapidly. The sight of his husband touching himself sent a thrill through Thranduil and he moaned as he bent down and covered his husband’s mouth with his, and swallowed their screams as the Bowman came. Bard’s spasms brought Thranduil over the edge, as he too, spilled inside him, his face buried in Bard’s shoulder, as he continued his thrusting. He was home. Bard gave him a home for his body, yes, but more than anything else, made a home for him in his heart. As Thranduil and Bard moved through their orgasms, and aftershocks, the safety and warmth of _just belonging_ was overpowering.

All too soon, this wonderful warmth, these arms and legs, that soft, breathy voice and laugh would be far away in Dale, and he could hardly bear the thought of it.

Bard must have known this, because he held the Elf to him, whispering softly to him, running his fingers through his hair, and gently stroking his back, as Thranduil still nuzzled his neck and shoulder; throat tight, eyes stinging, swallowing hard.

“It’s all right, love. We’ll get through this.” Bard said. It sounded like he was convincing himself, too.

“I know we can. And we will, _Meleth nîn.”_ Thranduil lifted his head and smiled bravely down to him. “And the time will pass before we know it, and we will be together again.”

They held each other for a few minutes more, then moved so that Thranduil was on his back, and Bard was nestled beside him, as they looked up at the constellations on the ceiling.

“How is that going to work, exactly? We’ve talked about it some, but…” Bard asked.

“It is as we spoke of before. You will be needed in Dale much more than I will be needed here for the next decade or so. Dale will need help to establish itself as a seat of power in the North, from both my Kingdom and Erebor. My presence will be required, I believe, to help its stability. For the most part, we can be together, but there will be times I must be here, and whenever possible, you and the children can come with us. Once you feel Bain is ready to take over, then you will come here permanently, and the children can visit. Compared to the rest of our lives, a few decades are not long, _Meleth nîn._ We have forever.”

“Won’t your Council and your people resent your absence so much?”

“At this time, they are glad the Dragon is dead, and they are grateful that you helped ensure the Kingdom’s future. They understand what needs to be done. When Galadriel cleared Dol Guldur, it made our forest somewhat safer as a whole, so it will be easier to clear it of spiders, Orcs and such. My presence in the Woodland Realm, will not be as important as it was before the Dragon was killed or Sauron was banished. My place will be in Dale, to prepare for the future.”

“We just have to get through this winter...”

“We do.” Thranduil kissed Bard’s hair.

 

After breakfast, Bard took the children to spend time with the people from Dale. Thranduil went to see Feren, to tell him that Bard wouldn’t be returning with him that day.

“Is King Bard well? How are you, Sire?” Feren asked, concerned, when Thranduil explained about Rhian’s injuries.

“He is a bit fatigued, but will recover rapidly. Elénaril is watching him closely. I need you to make sure the supply wagons get to Dale safely, and give word to Lord Percy about the delay. Please don’t give him the details; it will just cause him worry.”

“Certainly, My Lord.”

Thranduil put his hand on his oldest friend’s shoulder. “I am sorry to take you away from your wife and the girls, but there is no one I trust more to ensure the safety of Dale for the winter.”

“I am be sorry to leave them, but this is my job, Thranduil.” Feren assured Thranduil. “I do not trust anyone other than myself, either. Glélindë understands this, even though we have the girls. And soon, they will be joining us there.”

“If you would, Feren, there are some things I would like you to take to Dale. They are to be surprises for Tauriel…”

After Thranduil explained what he wanted, Feren agreed. “This is also a very practical idea, My Lord. I know just the ones. In fact, My Lord, I have another idea to suggest, if I may…” And Feren explained his predicament, and the solution.

Thranduil grinned widely and nodded. “I agree!” and he laughed. “It may take Bard some time to get used to it, but he will learn to appreciate it, I think. I am glad you thought of it. If you could delay your departure for a few moments, I would like to write a letter, explaining it. Make sure he reads it in his room his room at the Castle, as soon as he finds it."

Feren laughed, too and shook his head. “I promise to write and tell you what happens, _Mellon nîn_.”

“I look forward to it,” the Elvenking smirked.

 

After seeing his Commander and the supply caravan off, he went to the Healing Halls to visit Daeron. The Guard had been released from his healing-sleep, and was in bed, sleeping lightly, so when Thranduil knocked on his open door, Daeron opened his eyes in surprise.

“My Lord! I was not expecting you!” Daeron sat up quickly and smoothed his hair.

“Please, do be alarmed. I wanted to see how you fared, and to thank you for your efforts to save the girl. Have you seen her and the child?”

“Not yet, My Lord, I have only awoken a short while ago.”

“How do you feel?” Thranduil asked, concerned, as he walked further into the room, “You were very weak when I last saw you. I carried you in here; do you not remember?”

“I am afraid I do not. But I feel better.” He sat up, and reached for his robe. “I should be going to my quarters soon. King Bard has left, and the children need taken care of.” Daeron tried to stand, but he swayed slightly.

Thranduil quickly grabbed Daeron’s arm to steady him, and helped him sit back down. “King Bard will be here for one more day, Daeron, but that should not concern you, right now. The other guards will be taking your shifts, and Turamarth has returned to Dale with Commander Feren today with the supplies.”

“I do not understand, My Lord. I thought Turamarth was to remain here. Has something happened?”

“Peace, Daeron; nothing has occurred. Turamarth approached Commander Feren and volunteered to go to Dale, in place of another Guard who needed to stay.  
This Guard’s father was killed in the Battle, and, although his mother has not faded, it was felt that his presence would offer some comfort and ensure her safety. Turamarth especially requested to go, because he is only just learning Westron, and thinks wintering in Dale would expedite his education.”

Daeron considered this, and nodded his head in approval. “That is a good idea. I hope the Guard’s mother will recover from her grief.”

“I think she will, but best to be sure. The miracle of Eärendil’s voyage to us with the Silmaril helped ease those who were suffering from grief. I have yet to discover the extent of the blessing, but all will be revealed, in time.”

Thranduil said to Daeron, “We are living in extraordinary times, I think, and the Valar seems to want to ensure our success. Now, as for you, Lieutenant, you shall stay here, until Elénaril releases you, then you will rest in your quarters until she sanctions your return to duty, and not before.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Daeron looked a bit relieved. “I am much better, but still very tired.” When he saw the Elvenking look at him with concern, he said, “I could not have done differently, My Lord.”

Thranduil put his hand on the Guard’s shoulder. “I know this, and I understand. As with all things, you gave your very best effort, and I am proud of you.”

The Guard looked up at him, and nodded his thanks.

“Can you walk at all? I was hoping to pay a short visit to see Rhian and her son. Do you wish to accompany me?”

“Very much, Sire, but I am afraid I cannot do so, without assistance.”

Thranduil stretched out his hand. “Then assistance you shall have.”

Daeron made to stand up, and after a few moments, while leaning on Thranduil’s arm, made his way out of the room.

As they walked down the hall, Thranduil filled the guard in with regards to Bard’s judgement of innocence, and the entire circumstances of her arrival in Dale. He also told Daeron the extent of Rhian’s injuries.

Daeron was stricken. “We kept urging her to take deep breaths… It could have killed her, My Lord!”

“But that did not happen, and you saved them both, _Mellon nîn.”_ Thranduil reassured him. “You are in a weakened state, at the moment, and it is important that you focus on the positive outcome, do you understand?”

Daeron nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”

They reached the last door on the left, and Thranduil knocked.

“Come in,” said a soft voice.

Thranduil opened the door and stuck his head in. “Good morning, My Lady. I have someone with me who wishes to see you.” He opened the door further, and helped Daeron into the room.

They got to the chair beside her bed, then the guard sat down.

Rhian looked at Daeron, glad to see him, but surprised at his weakened state.

The Guard was glad to see her, and asked anxiously, “How are you, Rhian? How is the child?”

Are _you_ all right, Daeron?” Rhian was concerned, and asked. “What happened to him?” She looked between him and Thranduil. “Are you hurt?”

“Peace, Rhian,” Thranduil said, gently. “My Guard will be absolutely fine, he just needs some rest.”

“I don’t understand…” The young girl was getting upset.

“I know this, but truly, you have no need to worry. Daeron will explain later.” Thranduil assured her once more. “I believe my Guard is more concerned with how you and your son are.”

“We are both good, thanks to you.” she said, shyly. She looked at the Elvenking, “And thanks to you and King Bard, too.”

“It was our pleasure, Rhian,” Thranduil said, nodded his head slightly. “Though I must bring up a matter of some urgency, if you do not mind.”

“What’s wrong, My Lord?” the young girl asked.

“Galion has reported that many in the Palace have been asking what the child’s name will be." The Elvenking grinned, "and I have been assigned the task of satisfying their curiosity. I must confess I am rather curious, myself as well as King Bard and his children.  Have you decided on a name for him?”

Rhian looked back and forth at the both of them, then answered, “Well, I was thinking… I mean... if it’s all right, I do have a name in mind,” she began, then she looked at Daeron anxiously. “If you don’t like it, then I’ll find something else. I don’t want to make you mad.”

“What do you want to name him, Rhian?” Daeron was confused, and curious.

Biting her lip, she said, tentatively, “I want to name him Darryn. It’s like your name, and I think it would be nice, since you saved me, and you’re my friend.  I mean, you helped him be born, and you helped me, too, when I came to Dale, and I think it would be nice, and it isn’t exactly like your name, but I still want to…”

Thranduil took in the Elf’s stunned face, and assured the young girl,  “Rhian, I think it is an excellent name, and, although he is speechless at the moment, I believe Daeron is agreeable.”

He went to the other side of the bed, and asked the girl, “Might I hold him for one moment?”

Rhian nodded and handed him up to Thranduil, while the Elven Guard still sat there, stunned.

Darryn and the Elvenking regarded each other for a moment as grey eyes look into darker blue ones. The baby stretched his arms out and waved his fists around for a moment, then regarded Thranduil, thoughtfully.

Holding up his free hand over the child, the Elvenking announced, “I, Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, declare your name to be Darryn, son of Rhian of Dale.  I hereby bestow upon you, citizenship of the Woodland Realm, as well as Dale. You, as with your mother, shall be entitled to and accorded all the protections and benefits, my Kingdom has to offer. You and your mother will be granted assistance, and safe passage anywhere in my Realm, for as long as you both shall live.”

Little Darryn showed his appreciation for this great honor by burping loudly, smacking his lips, and falling asleep, again. The Elvenking laughed, then handed the child back to Rhian, who was wide-eyed; not really understanding what had just happened.

Thranduil smiled down at her and explained. “All newborn children born in my Realm are brought to me, so I that I might formally declare his or her name.  This young man is of Dale, yes, but he was born in the Woodland Realm, so I have granted him dual citizenship. I will issue you both certificates and markers to wear that will allow you to legally pass into my Kingdom, to come and go as you please, and, should you or your son need help or protection throughout your lives, I, or any of my people, will aid you.”

The Elvenking smirked, “This also prevents Daeron, here, from refusing the name, out of modesty.  It is a fine name, and an admirable choice, Rhian.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” The young mother said shyly, then looked over at the wide-eyed Elf, sitting in the chair to her right.

Daeron was speechless with surprise. He leaned closer to the bed, and peered down at the blanketed bundle.

“Would you like to hold him?” She handed the baby to the Elf, and watched as the Daeron and his namesake became acquainted.

Rhian was only smiling a little, but she looked more at ease. Thranduil knew she found him intimidating, but she was feeling a bit more comfortable around others. Small steps. He may not understand exactly what she went through, but he understood trauma, and what it could do, and he planned to keep an eye on her.

As he watched the three of them, his foresight granted him a peek into the child’s future: The boy would grow to be handsome and very strong, a credit to his mother, and to Dale. He would have much skill with weapons, but he would not be a soldier, he’d be a scholar. There was something else, too; something that surprised and puzzled him.

He saw a future, with the three of them together, and it gave him pause.

There was much he needed to speak with Mithrandir about, and not the least of which was this…

Thranduil said a quiet goodbye to them both, and left the room.

 

His next stop, was to see Mithrandir and Bilbo, who were sitting in his guest suite by the fire, smoking their pipes. “Are you enjoying your stay?” he asked them.

“Yes. I must admit, the accommodations are much nicer here, than the dungeons.” Bilbo grinned. “Food’s better, too. I’ve been spending time with your minstrels and storytellers, writing down as much as I can. They’re very good, for Wood Elves.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows raised, “Oh, really? ‘For Wood Elves?’”

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t put it like that. Sorry, if I insulted you. But, even you must admit, the songs and poems of Rivendell rival none.” Bilbo looked sheepish.

“Peace, Master Baggins. It is to Elrond’s credit that he celebrates and encourages the arts. We, however, find joy in the flora and fauna of our forest, and the stars. Sadly, we also spend much time fighting the Darkness, in our home. Perhaps, one day, should the Woodland Realm be restored, our songs and such will rival those of even the House of Elrond.”

Bilbo responded, with all sincerity. “I doubt I will live long enough to see that day, Lord Thranduil, but I shall wish for it, nonetheless. Your people are Elves of the finest character, and I am honored to have the chance to know them, under better circumstances. You must be very proud.”

“I am, and I thank you, Master Hobbit.” He nodded his head at the Halfling. “Mithrandir, might I speak with you a moment?”

“Of course, will you excuse us please, Bilbo?” the Wizard asked his companion.

“Certainly. I was headed to the kitchens to see about Elevenses, anyway. I’m feeling a bit peckish.” Bilbo stepped out.

Once alone, Thranduil told the Wizard about the phenomenon during Rhian’s healing, yesterday, and Bard’s ability to “see” and assist as well.

“That’s astounding Thranduil!” the Wizard exclaimed. “Do you think he borrowed this power from you?”

“No, I do not. I would have felt it drain from me, if he had. We were working together. I was hoping you might tell me, if you could.” He explained about the displaced rib, and how hard it was to keep the bones in place. “If he had not helped me, the injury would have been made worse, and the girl would have died. He also tells me his sight and hearing have vastly improved.”

Mithrandir sat back with his pipe, thoughtful. “Did he suffer any ill effects after helping the girl?”

“He was fatigued like myself, but my Healer has been watching him closely, because he is a Man, and wants to know how this affects his body. She has been satisfied, so far, that there is no damage, that she can find.”

“Good. Tell them to keep checking Bard. I have no doubt he’s fine, because the Valar and Eru wished it so, but it never hurts to be sure. As to what else he might gain from your union, it’s anyone’s guess. You’ll both have to wait and see. I don’t think there’s much more, though. If you suspect he might be given some great and powerful gift, Thranduil, I highly doubt it.”

“I do not think so, either. In fact, _I hope not._ Those gifts tend to be more of a burden than a blessing, do you not agree?  At this time, my husband has enough on his shoulders, as he learns how to be a King of Dale.”

This made the Wizard laugh with commiseration, “Poor Bard! I don’t envy him, but he’ll make a fine King.” Then Gandalf suggested, “I would urge him to practice caution, if he does have new powers. Among Men, that can be misconstrued. For now, only a select group of people should know. We need to learn and understand things more fully. There is something else we need to consider: If Bard’s sight and hearing have increased, he may also gain quickness, strength, and agility. He will need to relearn his skills with a bow, a sword, until he knows exactly what he can do, and how to handle himself.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement. “You are wise to think of it. I will speak of this to Bard, and issue orders to Feren to work with Bard closely and discreetly. I can ask Tauriel to help him, too. She is taking Daeron’s place this winter as his Chief Guard in Dale.”

“Good idea.” Mithrandir eyed the Elvenking quizzically. “How is Tauriel?”

“She is saddened and grieving. Whatever happened between her and Prince Kili, it could not have been much.” The Elvenking sighed, with frustration. “She is so young, Mithrandir, and seems cruel to me, that she can never know lasting love, or to have children. I can only pray the Valar will show kindness to her. Many died in the Battle, and they, too, had loved ones. I have compassion for them, but Tauriel is my daughter, and I feel her loss keenly.”

“And, as her father, you want to help her.”

“I want to help all those who are in mourning in the Kingdom. Elrond’s father helped them a great deal with his gesture during the services. But, to answer your question, yes; I do want to help Tauriel. She and I have grown much closer, since the Battle, and since I am doing better with… things. I cannot make up for what we lost, but I wish to be a real and loving father to her now.”

Gandalf smiled at him. “I’m happy for you both. That could not have been easy to admit to yourself. You’ve shown great courage, recently, and I’m proud of you.”

Thranduil looked sincerely at the Wizard, “It was you who reminded me where my heart's true treasure rests, and although I hated you at the time for it, I know you did it out of friendship, and concern.  I am in your debt.”

Gandalf cleared his throat, and toyed with his pipe. “You are most welcome, but if you had not already known this, deep in your heart, my words would mean nothing.” Then he changed the subject, “Tell me how your people have been, since the Battle.”

“According to reports, Mithrandir, Eärendil did much to ease the grief of my people, by shining the Silmaril on us that night. Not nearly as many are in danger of fading, or leaving as I feared. That truly was an unexpected blessing from the Valar, but…” Thranduil struggled with his words for a moment, “could it mean… _more?_ My foresight tells me it may be so, but I do not yet know the details.”

Gandalf thought for a moment. “I think you’re right, my friend, there could be more to it, but I don’t know what it could be. If I discover anything, I’ll be sure to share it with you.”

“Thank you. I wish to send some letters to Elrond with you, if I could; I want to thank him for the courtesy he asked his father to bestow, and to ask if he has been given any insight in this matter.  I also want to send a formal announcement of my marriage to both him and Legolas.  My son should not learn of such a thing through rumor.”

“That’s a good idea.” Gandalf agreed, before drawing on his pipe again as the two sat in companionable silence.

“Mithrandir?” Thranduil asked the Wizard, pensively, “Do you think Mírelen is happy in Valinor, now?”

“I believe so, Thranduil. It was a wonderful gift she gave you.”

“Yes, it was. She gave up our bond, so I could find happiness, but…”

“And, are you happy with Bard?” Gandalf asked him.

“More than I ever thought possible. But now, Mírelen is alone, and this seems unkind.” Thranduil pointed out.

“What makes you believe she’d be alone?”

Thranduil blinked in surprise. “You mean…”

“My friend, I don’t know. What we do know is that your bond has been severed, so you could love again. Isn’t it only fitting that she, too, find the same happiness? It’s possible that asking Manwë to allow this grace, benefitted the both of you. She knew you were suffering greatly, and needed someone. She may have also needed someone. Perhaps she met him while in Mandos’ Halls.”

For a few moments, Thranduil felt the knee-jerk reaction of outrage, jealousy, and betrayal.

It must have shown on his face, because the Wizard asked him, “Thranduil, you and Bard plan to sail to Valinor, one day. Have you thought about meeting her there with your husband, and what that might be like?”

“No, I confess I have not.”

“The reason I ask you, is this: If you were there, right this minute, and were forced to choose between Mírelen and Bard, which would you choose?”

It didn’t take the Elvenking long to decide. His feelings for Mírelen were strong, but, now that he could face his feelings, he realized how much they had changed over their long separation. Had she not died, he would have loved her just as fervently, just as passionately as he had when he married her, and have no regrets. But she _had been_ killed, and though his love for her lived on, it became something… different; love born of memory and comfort. It was something to always cherish be grateful for.

His heart belonged to Bard, now, and that would not change.

“I would want Bard. I love him very much, and I want no other.” He answered firmly.

“And if she meets you on the shores with another husband?” The Wizard prodded.

Thranduil sat back on his chair, bringing his steepled fingers to his mouth, considering carefully.

“I think I would be happy for her, just as I know she wishes me happiness.  I will be frank, and tell you I would have to get used to it, but, yes, I think she deserves the same happiness she has given me.  I am glad you said this.  It helps to settle things a bit more.  I will always have love for her, but I am no longer _in_ _love_ with her, and I hope she can move on and find what I have found for herself.”

“Good.” Gandalf smiled at him. “My dear friend, I have not seen joy in your eyes for almost a thousand years.  I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you happy. Of course, I plan to stop in every now and again, to see how you two and those children fare.”

“You will always be welcome as an honored guest in my home, Mithrandir. You have brought happiness to me again, and I am forever in your debt."  After a pause he added,  "I do not believe I have apologized for my rudeness to you, before the Battle. Forgive me.”

“I thank you. I understand how hard it must have been to live so close to a Dragon for almost two hundred years, after what you suffered during the War.  It didn’t surprise me.  Think no more about it.  You have a bright future ahead for yourself and Bard; that’s all the matters, now.”

Thranduil nodded, then got up out of his chair, bowed to the Wizard, and turned to leave.

He almost reached the door, when he turned, a bit uncertain. “If… you see Legolas, when you stop at Rivendell, would you write me and tell me how he is?  Please?” He swallowed, as his throat tightened.

“Of course, my friend; I will be happy to.  If I do see him, is there anything you wish me to tell him?”

Thranduil swallowed. “I hope he is finding some peace, whatever he is doing. I do not know where his path will lead him, but… I do not know what to say, because I do not wish to push him. If I said to tell him how much I love him, he would not believe it, I think. I have made so many mistakes, Mithrandir, with many things…” His voice broke. “I cannot begin to know how to make this up to him. Or even if I can…” he looked to the floor.

Gandalf gave him a sympathetic look, and went to him, putting his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. “I understand, my friend. Don’t worry. I promise you; if it feels right to say anything, I will tell him you are thinking of him, and wish him well. Let’s leave it at that for a bit.”

Swallowing he said, hoarsely, “Thank you, Mithrandir.” He saluted, and left.

 

 

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Tithen pen_ – Little one  
_Hênig_ – My child  
_Bara-Maethor_ – Literal translation: “Fiery Warrior”  
_Lavan-Dagor_ – Literal translation: “War Beast.”  
_Authon nîth_ – “Young Warrior”  
_Meleth nîn_ – My love  
_Iellig_ – My daughter  
_Mellon nîn -_ My friend


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two Kings do their best to be brave, as Bard prepares to leave, for the Winter months. The children do their best to be brave, too, but they've never been apart from their Da, and take it hard, especially poor little Tilda. 
> 
> ****This is the end of the first part of the "Two Thrones" series!!!! The next work, called "And Winter Came..." is next, which chronicles their lives, adventures and mishaps in Dale and the Woodland Realm, and they endure the long winter months apart.****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've done this, and I couldn't have, really, without the inspiration and support of everyone who left me a comment, who inspired me to write in the first place, and all of you who left me such kind Kudos!
> 
> There are so many great stories on this site, written by such gifted writers, that also deserve my thanks for sharing your version of the world with us all.
> 
> This is my first fanfic. It's the first time I've written anything, and all your efforts and attention in the comments mean the world to me!

 

 

Thranduil made his way to the Visitor’s Wing, and saw Bard, Hilda, and Bronwyn in conversation. “Good morning, My Lord,” Hilda and Bronwyn curtsied. “We’re discussing the school we’re setting up.” Bard looked pleased.

“And what are your ideas?” Thranduil asked them.

“Most of them will go into the Dining Hall, and the littlest ones will be in a separate room, near the necessary. They’re noisier, and can’t sit for long. Bronwyn has set up groups, according to age and ability, and we are gathering the materials together.” Hilda told him.

“Are you pleased with this?” He asked the women.

“For the most part. Galion and I are setting up another room where the adults can learn, too. We’re just now deciding who to teach them.”

Thranduil was pleased. “When do you wish to start?”

“As soon as possible, to get everyone into a routine. The plan is to start in three days. Everyone is still getting the hang of the place, and we need to learn more about where things are, so we don’t get lost.”

“Have there been any complaints?” Bard asked her.

“Only a few, and those are from the people who love to complain, anyway. No serious problems.” Hilda turned to Bronwyn. “What’s going on with the Orphans?”

“Oh, they’re excited to be here. The ruins of Dale were depressing, no matter how much we tried to clean them up, so they’ll be happier in such a lovely place.”

Bard asked Hilda, “Speaking of Orphans, what’s going on with Alis and Dafina?”

The two women looked at each other and smiled, before turning to the King of Dale. “It looks real good so far, Bard.”

  
The Kings thanked the ladies, and they gathered their children for lunch, which was lively. The children were full of chatter at all they had seen so far, and their plans for the winter. Thranduil could see Bard was making an effort to put up a good, cheerful front, and he admired him for it.

Thranduil and Bard spent the afternoon with the children, showing them around the Palace. He showed them the indoor arena, where horses are exercised, and his Army trains over the winter. Time will be set aside there, for the children to play – locks were installed on the cabinets containing practice weapons. Then everyone got their coats on and went to the barns, so they could see the animals.

Tilda squealed in delight at the young bull Elk, who came up to Thranduil, looking for a treat. Before Bard could object, he gave Bain and Tilda each an apple to give to him, which the beast accepted delicately, as the Elvenking gave his husband a smug look.

He took them to the Throne Room, and the children looked up at that high seat, with all those carvings and ancient antlers. He told them the brief history, leaving out the grisly parts, and told them, for the most part, business was taken care of in the adjoining Council Room, which he showed them next.

After asking them all take a seat at the table, he spoke to them:

“These are impressive rooms, are they not? They should be, because the decisions made here affect all my people, so they are made very carefully. It may seem, to others, that being King only means having nice things and privilege, but what many do not understand is the tremendous and heavy weight of responsibility.

“I must ask you, children, to _never_ come into these rooms, unless you are summoned, or it is an emergency. Even then, you must tell the guards what the problem is, and wait for them to let you in. You must _never_ barge in. The decisions and judgments rendered here, require a great deal of reverence and respect.  Also, it is important that, while you are in these rooms, you must use formal titles and act with all courtesy. Do you all understand?”

When the children agreed and promised to do this, he smiled. “I know you will do your best.”

Then the Elvenking continued with the etiquette lesson on courtly manners: “You are members of two Royal Houses, now, and outside of the Royal Wing of either Palace, you must _n_ _ever_ disagree with your Kings, or even with each other. When you are with us, and you have a problem, ask to see us in private, and I promise, we will listen to you, and consider your opinions carefully.  This is mostly for your benefit, and will save you a great deal of trouble.”

“How?” Bain wanted to know.

“I am sad to tell you, many to will seek an opinion from you, or want to take you aside and talk to you about decisions rendered by us. These people will want to turn you into a pawn, to accomplish their own goals. Never allow yourself to be manipulated into something like this.”

“What should we say, then?” Sigrid asked.

“That is a good question, and the answer is very simple. Politely tell them, ‘You must speak to the King,’ and walk away. If it persists, then you come and tell us right away, and we will take care of it. Again, please remember, outside of our private chambers, we are your Kings first, and we must present a united front.”

He looked at each of the children to make sure they understood, and all three said they did.

He smiled at them, “Excellent! Shall we adjourn this ‘Council meeting' and finish the tour?” At their enthusiastic nods, they got up and left the chamber.

They saw both libraries, and Thranduil showed them some of the books written in Tengwar script. “It’s beautiful!” Sigrid said, turning some pages. “Tilda, look at the pictures in this one!”

“I like the animal one. The pictures are pretty,” Tilda observed. It was a children’s book, so Thranduil checked to see if he had a copy in Westron, which he did.

“Here you are, _Tithen Pen.”_ He handed her the book. “You may take this to your rooms, and I know you will take care of it, will you not?” He asked her, and she gave a gap-toothed grin and nodded her head, as he recorded the loan of the book with the librarian.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the King’s chambers. Sigrid had gone to see Rhian and the baby for a bit, but was soon back, because she wanted as much time with her Da as possible. They snuggled on the couches, laughing and joking, and the children took turns playing Draughts on the low table in front of them. Tilda was getting pretty good at the game, especially with her Da’s help.

Dinner was a golden crusted meat pie, with vegetables, rolls and butter, and his favorite berry tarts. Galion made sure to include a few cherry ones for Sigrid, who couldn’t eat strawberries.

The children were learning to love Galion as an Uncle, just as Legolas and Tauriel had, Thranduil observed. From across the table, as Galion was chatting with the children, he could see Bard had noticed, too, and heartily approved.

The evening was spent much like the afternoon, just being together, and being a family, which was the best way to enjoy their time with Bard. Bard sat Tilda in his lap, and read her the animal storybook from Thranduil’s library, Sigrid was finishing up her Da’s sock, so he could wear the new pair tomorrow. Bain was lying in his stomach, propping his head up on his elbows, watching the fire.

Thranduil had never known what a joy family leisure time could be. Just relaxing and being together for the sake of it, was an unexpected delight.

He reached over and stroked Bard’s hair, then squeezed his hand. His Bowman was such a gift. They all were, from Mírelen, herself. He thought of her, and his conversation with the Wizard, this morning. _Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn,_ he silently thanked his wife, hoping she could hear him. _Ci fael, Meleth nîn._

Once the children were bathed, bedded and kissed, Bard took him by the hand, and led him into their bedroom. “I have something for you, to help you think of me.”

“I do not need such things, Bard.” He said to his Bowman, as he rubbed their noses together.

“Oh, well, if you feel that way, then I won’t –“ Bard turned to walk away.

“…however, if you insist, how can I turn away your generosity?”

“Oh, but I didn’t insist… Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Bard, what is it?” Thranduil growled, nibbling on his ear.

His Bowman took him into the walk-in closet, and slipped Thranduil’s robes off his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. He sat him down on the cushioned chair, in front of the big mirror, and gathered his hair away from his face, and down one bare shoulder.

“Close your eyes.” Bard whispered to him.

Thranduil did as he was asked. He heard a shuffle, then he felt something smooth and cool touch his skin, and around his neck, then Bard lift his hair and rearrange it.

“Open your eyes, love.” Bard whispered, and kissed his ear.

He did, and gasped. Against his smooth, pale skin, was the beautiful emerald necklace that Bard was given by the Dwarves, when they were at Erebor. He had only given it a cursory glance at the time, but now he saw the intricate design of emeralds against the gold filigree, with small diamonds interspersed between them.

“Oh, Bard,” he whispered, bringing his hand to up to touch it, “It is breathtaking!”

“You like it, then?” Bard smiled, from his reflection in the mirror. “I brought it with me, because I knew I wanted to give it to you, the minute I laid eyes on it.  It looks even better than I imagined.”

“I love it, Bard.” Thranduil was visibly moved at the beauty of the gift, and the heart of the man who wanted him to have it. “I couldn’t love anything more.”

“Well, I hope that’s not true, because that’s not the only thing I’m giving you to remember me by.” His husband whispered into his ear, then ran his tongue over the outside of it, nibbling and sucking on the tip of it, causing Thranduil to gasp, as a delightful stirring began in his loins.

Bard straightened, and removed his tunic and undershirt. Then he moved to the front of the chair where Thranduil was sitting, and knelt down, running his hands over his skin, kissing his chest, nuzzling his nipples, and untying the laces of his breeches. The sight of them in the mirror was exciting and fascinating. His hands were in Bard’s hair as he suckled on him, and teased the other nipple, and he moaned softly, as he watched his husband, himself, and the necklace sparkling in the lamplight. He saw his own face, eyes darkened, mouth hanging open, gasping out endearments to his Bowman, as Bard took him in his mouth and began to bob his head up and down, his tongue playing with the head of his cock, licking the sensitive places just beneath it. At this last touch, Thranduil cried out his name, and tried not to close his eyes. He didn’t want to miss this. He’d never seen himself like this; aroused, holding Bard’s black wavy hair in his hands, watching defined muscles of his back ripple, as he brought pleasure to him. The sight and feel of all made the Elvenking cry out, as he watched himself respond, panting, with his heart pounding.

When he felt Bard massage his balls, he watched his hips thrust, as his muscles tensed. _Oh, it felt so good…_ Thranduil saw his own eyes become nearly black with excitement.

Then he felt Bard’s fingers move back and toy with his entrance, as he panted and growled. Thranduil told him again and again how much he loved this and how much he loved him. He watched his face became tense, his climax building, when he felt a finger inside him, and it sent him to the stars. The sight of Bard’s body also become tense, as he, too, could feel it, the sight of rippling muscles on his back sent him to the edge.

And all the while, the beautiful emerald necklace shone in the light.

Thranduil had never seen his own face in absolute ecstasy, and it made him come _hard._ He cried out his release to himself in the mirror, as he dug his fingers into Bard’s hair watching himself thrust. Bard sucked hard through Thranduil’s climax, humming and growling, which made him scream.

When he was finished, Bard lifted his head, and kissed his way up to Thranduil’s mouth. “So, you like my gift?” He looked smugly at the Elf. Bard’s eyes were as black as his hair, and from the look of his breeches, he was hard as a rock. Thranduil pulled Bard to him, and held him close, as their breath returned to normal.

Finally, when he could speak again, Thranduil ran his hands over Bard’s chest, and pushed him off as he stood up. Then he turned the chair around, so that its back was facing the mirror. “Let me show you how much I like it,” he growled, grabbing Bard by the back of the neck, kissing him hard, as he unlaced Bard’s leggings and grabbed his cock, working it at the same time he stroked the inside of his mouth with his tongue. He pushed Bard’s breeches down past his hips. “Off. Now.” As they removed the rest of their clothes, Thranduil reached over on the vanity for the oil he uses on his skin, and slicked it on his Bowman with bold strokes; He listened to Bard moan, as he grew harder, and he did too, wanting that cock in him.

He let go of Bard and gave Bard the bottle, as he wickedly smiled, and bent over and held the back of the chair.

“Oh, _bloody fuck,_ Thran…” He heard and saw Bard whisper from the mirror. The look on his husband’s face was priceless, as he came up behind him, face full of desire. He ran his hand over Thranduil’s back, massaging it and his buttocks. Then the Elvenking groaned, when he felt slick fingers stroke him inside, feeling lightning bolts of pleasure, as the fingers rubbed in small circles over his prostate, just the way he liked it. When Bard entered him, in one long slow stroke, Thranduil’s eyes were riveted to the Bowman’s face; watching him, watching them, feeling him inside and out, as he was pounded into from behind.

He became hard again at the sight and feel of it all, and saw his face, mouth open, panting. “ _A, Ma!_ Touch me, Bard, please!” he begged.

Bard continued to fuck Thranduil, as he reached around and took his cock and began to pump it up and down. “I want you to think of this, watching me fuck you, watching your face when I fuck you so hard.” Bard rasped into his ear. “I want this sight to burn in your mind, while I’m gone. I want you to remember our faces when I make you come…”

Thranduil responded with a loud, deep grunt, as his muscles tensed around Bard. _“Ídhron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog, Meleth nîn. Avo dharo! Avo dharo!_

“Oh, fuck, Thranduil… I love you so much…”

Soon, they both reached the pinnacle, and Thranduil saw their bodies stiffen and they both cried out, as they reached the edge, and fell together, into the bright light of the sun.

When at last they slowed to a stop, Bard fell over Thranduil’s back and panted. “That was… Oh, Stars,” he laughed. “I can’t believe you do this to me…every time…” Bard laid his head on Thranduil’s back, panting, running hands over his ribs. “Every single time… I’m going to miss this so much.”

“Oh, _Meleth nîn,_ I will, as well.” Thranduil was still hanging on the chair, trying to catch his own breath. After a minute or two, Bard could pull out, so they stood up straight, and held each other for long moments. Bard helped Thranduil remove the necklace, and the Elvenking carefully put it back in its box. They made their way to the bathing room, with some glasses of wine, and sank into the pool, and took turns cradling each other between their legs, as they lovingly washed each other.

After their hot bath, they dried each other off, and crawled into bed.  Bard gathered Thranduil to him, as he buried his face in the back of the Elf’s neck - their favorite sleeping position. He drifted off to sleep, with his Bowman’s arm and leg wound protectively over him, making him feel warm, safe, and very much loved.

 

Morning came, and with it, came Bard’s departure. They stood in their bedroom, foreheads together for a long time, not saying anything, trying to memorize the feel of each other. They had made slow, tender love earlier, saying everything they could think of to say, between loving soft kisses.

Now, they were determined to be brave, for themselves for each other, and for the children.

Finally, Bard broke the spell. “Come on, love,” he whispered. “Everything’s ready, and it’s time.”

The family soberly made its way through the Palace, and to the Main Doors, and got ready to say goodbye. Thranduil stood by silently as he hugged the children, trying his best to keep an encouraging smile on his face, pretending his heart wasn’t breaking.

Sigrid did her best to be stoic, but her eyes shone, and she blinked rapidly. “Don’t worry, Da. We’ll write you every day, so when the supply wagon comes, you’ll have piles of things to read, and I’ll keep sending you socks to keep your feet warm.”

“That’s my girl,” Bard whispered into her hair.

“I love you, Da.” She whispered, eyes scrunched shut.

“I love you, too, and I’m so proud of you.” Bard squeezed her tighter. Then Sigrid nodded and stepped back, wiping her eyes quickly.

Bain stepped up for his hug. “Bye, Da. See you soon. We’ll be back before you know it!”

“You’ll do your lessons, and look after your sisters?”

“I promise. And I’ll look after our people, too.” Bain caught Thranduil’s eye, as he said this. “I’m your representative, so it’s my job.” The boy was trying to be brave, too.

Bard tousled his hair, “That you are, my boy. Do me proud.” Bard kissed Bains brow and held him tight. “I love you, son.”

“Love you.”

Tilda was crying, as she jumped into her Da’s arms. “I don’t want you to go, Da!” she sobbed into his neck. “Don’t go, please! I’ll miss you too much!” and she sobbed into Bard’s neck. Thranduil saw how stricken Bard looked, and heard his voice become hoarse, as he tried to comfort their baby.

“I know, Little Bean, I know. But Thrandool will be here, and Auntie Hil and Galion can give you hugs anytime you want.” Bard was rubbing her back, soothing her. “You’ve got Charlotte, and Daisy, and maybe Sigrid can take you sometimes to see the new baby. I want you to write me, so I can see how hard you’re working on your letters, and draw me lots of pictures, all right? And don’t forget, next time I see you, I want to see two new teeth so you can say your ‘esses’ again. Can you do that for me?”

“Da! I can’t make myself grow teeth!” Tilda hiccupped, tears still staining her face.

Bard smiled and kissed her again, then Thranduil took her from Bard, so he could say goodbye to Hilda, who wrapped her arms around him. “Now, I’m not going to cry. You just take care of yourself, and keep my Percy out of trouble. Here,” she handed him several letters. “Give these to him, when you get there, all right?”

“Sure will, love.” He wiped her eyes. “I thought you said you weren’t going to cry.” He smiled at her

“Oh, be quiet.” She sniffed.

“Now look, Hil, I’m counting on you to look after everyone. Especially this bunch.” He gestured to his family, with his thumb. “You keep ‘em all in line and on the straight and narrow, yeah? And don’t let Thranduil and Galion spoil the kids too badly.” Hilda nodded and smiled, blowing her nose.

Lastly, Bard turned to him. _“Gi melin, Thranduil.”_ He kissed his hand.

Still holding Tilda, Thranduil kissed Bard chastely, and hugged him with one arm, whispering, “I will keep your children and your people safe. We will guard them with our very lives. _Ci velethril nîn, Bard. Uireb.”_

Squaring his shoulders, and taking a long last look at them, Bard wiped his eyes, then went through the big Main Doors, where his white stallion was saddled and waiting. With a shout and a wave, he rode off with his Elven escort, while Tilda sobbed hard into the crook of Thranduil’s neck.

Hilda smoothed her hair, and wiped the tears off her little face. “There you go, Beanie. It’ll be all right.” She kissed Tilda’s forehead, as the little girl hugged Thranduil “Will she be all right?” she whispered to the Elvenking.

He smiled and nodded. “Please do not worry. If she does not settle down after a while, I will send for you, I promise.” Then Hilda buried her face in her handkerchief, after she kissed the kids and went back to work.

As the King and his family walked through the Palace, everyone looked on with sympathy, as they saw their sad faces and listened to the little one’s howls of misery.

The Elvenking spent the rest of the day with the children, either in their apartment or in his chambers. Galion and Hilda came and sat with them in the evening, while Tilda sat in Thranduil’s lap, clinging to him for dear life, as she had been the entire day. The older children did their best to put on a brave face, but they had to wipe their eyes occasionally, as they played Draughts or listened to Galion read to them.

Soon it was time for baths and bed, and he sat with each one of them for a while, as he tucked them in, making sure they were comfortable. Bain had his book, so Thranduil made a mental note to turn down his lamp later.

Poor Tilda was still upset, so he sang to her softly, until her eyes closed, and her breathing became deep and regular, then left her door open a crack, when he returned to the common area, where Sigrid was knitting.

“Thanks, _Ada._ Hopefully, she’ll sleep.”

“That is my hope, too, but I doubt it; at least for the first few nights. If she wakes, please either bring her in to me, or come get me. I want to make sure you get your rest, too, _Iellig.”_

He bent down to kiss her hair, and turned toward his room, to try and face the first night away from his Bard.

 

***************

 

Oh, thank the Stars and all the Valar, finally Dale was _finally_ in sight!

It had been a long, lonely journey, but the escort kept him company. It had been hard to hold back the tears when he said goodbye, and for a long while afterward, they ran down his face.

During the journey, he thought about all the changes in his life since the day he found those Dwarves on the Forest River. It was heartbreaking, exciting, fascinating, and wonderful. In so many ways he felt like his life was only beginning, and he couldn’t wait to get started with his new family, and his new Kingdom.

“King Bard, welcome home!” Percy greeted him on the steps to the Great Hall, with a formal bow, as the doors opened. “How was the trip?”

Walking inside, Bard thanked his escort, then turned back to his friend.

“It was long and cold, Percy. But we made it. How are things here?” Bard went over to the fire pit and held his hands over it, warming himself, before someone brought Bard a hot cup of tea. “Oh, aye! That’s what I need.”

“Feren and the supplies came yesterday, right on schedule. He’s out checking the sentries, along the City Wall. He’ll be back soon. I heard all about that little girl almost having her _babinod_ on the Palace steps. How is she?”

Bard laughed, as his hands were warmed by the cup. “Damned near, Pers, but Rhian had a boy, and all’s well that ends well.”

Percy stood and grinned at him, shaking his head, causing Bard to be suspicious. “What’s going on?”

“Your Elf sent some surprises along with the wagons. Seems he didn’t want us to be lonely.”

His Steward was looking a little too amused. “You’re making me nervous, Percy. What surprises?”

Percy started to snigger. “When the wagons got unloaded, Feren brought these baskets into the Hall. Old Ben went over and opened one of ‘em, and nearly had a heart attack!” He started laughing harder. “This huge orange cat jumped out at him, spittin’ and hissin’ and hoppin’ mad! Seems ridin’ for hours in those wagons didn’t agree with him.” Percy held his stomach. “I didn’t know the old man’s voice could go that high! It was like the damned thing had hold of his balls! Stars, Bard, you should've seen his face!" He howled. "He just ‘bout shit his breeches!” Percy could barely get the words out. “Feren nearly busted a gut, he laughed so hard!” The man was doubled over, and could hardly breathe, at this point. “It was the funniest damned thing I’d ever seen!”

By this time, Bard and half the folk in the Great Hall were roaring with laughter.

Then Bard asked, “Where are the cats now?” as Percy helplessly leaned against him, wiping his eyes.

“Off doin’ their job. And when they’re not doin’ that, they’re keepin’ us company. In fact, once Old Ben put his heart back in his chest, he named that big orange one Floyd. There’s another one, a female that took a real shine to Tauriel.”

Bard shook his head. “I never thought about mice. It’s a brilliant idea! Thranduil never said a word about it.”

“Well, he wouldn’t now, would he?” Percy gave him a meaningful smirk, and raised his eyebrow.

“Percy... ?” Bard began to feel unsettled.

"What?" He tried his best to look innocent. "I didn't do it!"

"Do what?"

“Seems your Elf didn’t want you to be lonesome, either.”

“What are you talking about?” Bard asked anxiously, as Percy had to lean against him, laughing all over again.

“Look in your chambers and see.” Percy grabbed his arm, and started dragging him there.

Looking at him warily, they walked through the Hall, waving hello to everyone as he went, past the kitchens, toward his rooms in the Castle.

When he reached the entrance to the corridor, Bard stopped.  The stillness and silence slammed into him, like a wall. A wave of loneliness washed over him; no chatter from children, or the velvety smooth baritone of his husband’s voice...

This was going to be ** _horrible._**

He felt Percy’s hand on his shoulder in empathy. “Know how you feel.” the older man said. “One foot in front of the other, Aye?”

Bard looked at him, and nodded.

As they walked down the hall, he looked into the children’s rooms, which were cold and empty, with bare mattresses and all personal touches removed. He sighed, closed each door, to keep from seeing it and went to his bedchamber. And, all the while, Percy was beside him, trying to keep a straight face.

When he opened the door, on the left side of the room, there was the big bed from Thranduil’s tent, neatly made. He looked over to the right, and there were the cushioned chairs by the fireplace, and a warm, crackling fire waiting for him and…

“Percy! What the f…” Bard stammered, eyes bugging out. “I don’t…"  Then he pointed, and squeaked at the top of his lungs,  _"WHAT THE FIDDLER'S FUCK IS THAT THING?”_

Lying there on the hearth rug, was the biggest dog Bard had _ever seen._

Percy was no help.  He was doubled over once again, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, while Bard just stood there like an idiot, trying to figure out if it was a dog or a donkey. Finally, the Steward recovered enough to stand up straight, although he was still clutching his stomach.

“You...  you shouldda seen your face! Hahahahaha!”

“Wh… How did it even get here?” Bard demanded, grabbing the top of his head, as if it would blow off, from the shock.

Percy shook his head. “Feren was grinning from ear to ear when he brought this boy in. He’s big, isn’t he?”

“Big?  BIG?!  He’s… _**massive!**_   What am I supposed to  _do_ with him?”

Percy shrugged. “Let him be a dog, I reckon. He’s real friendly, despite his looks.”

“But… Where’s his master?” Bard still couldn’t stop staring at the dog, shaking his head.

“Standing right next to me." Percy grinned.  "Here."  A sealed letter was placed in his hand. "Feren said to give this to you. It’ll explain everything.”

Bard stared down at the red wax, bearing the seal of the Elvenking.

“Well... I’ll just leave you 'lovebirds' to get acquainted...” Percy giggled, as he went to the door and gave a wave. “Happy honeymoon!”

 _“Pers! You bastard!_ You can’t just leave me here with…” Too late. The door was closed, and his friend’s guffaws could be heard all the way down the corridor.

Bard looked at the door, his mouth opening and closing several times.

_Ulmo’s balls…_

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bard turned and went over to the fireplace, not quite knowing what to do next. He sat down, in one of the cushioned chairs, looking at the fawn-colored beast, who lifted his great head and studied him thoughtfully, through enormous dark eyes. They assessed each other, for several minutes, neither one making a sound, until the dog got bored with him, and with a deep sigh, plopped his black face down between his paws again.

He sat there stupidly and stared at the beast, until he heard the collective roar of laughter from all the men in the Great Hall.

 _Oh, that’s just perfect..._   Everyone must have been waiting to hear what happened. Some undoubtedly had placed bets.  Bard hoped he was at least as entertaining as Old Ben, when he met the cat.

He shook himself out of his reverie, broke the seal on the letter, and began to read: 

> _Suilad, Hervenn nîn:_
> 
> _I asked Feren to present you with this here in our room, so I can picture you there, most likely feeling our absence keenly. I am sorry about the silence, Meleth nîn, but let us both pray to the Valar the winter passes quickly._
> 
> _I wish to introduce you to Thangon. He belonged to one of my officers, who was killed in the Battle of the Five Armies. His name is a variation of Thangail, which means “Great Shield” in Sindarin. He has accompanied his master on duty in the forest, and has lived up to his name many times. Like you, he is feeling lonely and bereft. I thought you two might help each other._
> 
> _Bard, I know I set out to make you a King, but you have made me a much better one. More important, your love makes me a better Elf. I know you think I have saved you and your people, but it was no more than you have done for me, Meleth nîn._
> 
> _You have helped me come back to myself, and to find joy and new life in each day. Hervenn nîn, thank you for giving me your heart, and bringing Sigrid, Bain and Tilda into my life._
> 
> _Please take care of Tauriel. She may not appear to need a comforting hand, or a shoulder to lean on, but I know you will lend her yours regardless. I sent her a companion, as well, and I hope she finds comfort in her._
> 
> _Just as I know you will watch over my daughter as your very own, so shall I look after your children. They will want for nothing, except to see you again, I promise you._
> 
> _I cannot know how much of you I will sense, as we do when we are together, but I will keep you in my heart and in my thoughts day and night._
> 
> _I love you, Bard. Always._
> 
> _Thranduil_
> 
>  

Bard put the letter in his lap, and stared into the fire for a long time, missing his children, his husband, and Hilda. After a few minutes, he heard shuffling, then Thangon rested his head on Bard’s knee, looking at him, with soulful eyes. He lifted his hand and scratched the huge beast behind one ear.

“Looks like you we're both missing loved ones, my friend.” Bard told the dog. Thangon looked at him, the brows on his wrinkled face moving, as he listened intently. “Are you hungry? Come on, then, let’s get something to eat, aye?”

He got up, slapped his thigh, and walked out in the hallway, with Thangon following behind. Tauriel was coming out of her room, as he passed, and he stopped to give her a hug.

“How are you?”

“I am well, though I miss _Ada_ and the children. How was your journey?"

“Percy told me about the cats. One of them seems to like you, then?”

Tauriel’s eyes danced. “Ada was kind to send her. We have been having problems with mice, and the cooks were very unhappy. The cats are male and female, and will produce kittens, in time. That will please Tilda.” Tauriel looked down at Thangon, and patted his head, as the dog wagged his rear end at her.

She giggled.  “I see you have received your gift.”

“Uh... He was… quite the surprise.” Bard chuckled, and pointed toward the Great Hall with his thumb. “I'm never going to hear the end of it, out there.  I'm sure Percy told everybody how we two met, word for word."  He looked down at the dog. "He seems nice enough. Just... _big._  Does he understand Westron? I don’t speak Sindarin; how do I control this beast, if he doesn’t understand me?”

“Commander Feren can tell you more. We have many like him in the Woodland Realm, but I do not know this one. What is his name?”

“Thranduil’s letter said his name is Thangon. Something about a shield.”

“A good name.  Let me try something." She bent down, petting him, and spoke to him in Elvish. Bard had heard it before, mostly during Healing spells. He seemed to respond to her, as he sat, lay down, and barked, on her commands. Bard tried in Westron, but the dog just stared at him and panted, with his tongue sticking out.

“Hmmm… Suppose you teach me the commands in Sindarin, and it should be all right.”

“The commands I spoke are in Quenya. We normally train our animals in this language.”

“Whatever works. Come on, Thangon, let’s get something to eat, shall we?”

Tauriel said to the dog, _“Tulë!”_ And the dog got up and obediently followed them into the Great Hall, where the long tables were ready for the midday meal. After Bard endured much teasing by the other men, he dug into his stew with relish, and ate three rolls, tossing the fourth, to Thangon, who caught it expertly in his mouth, while lying by the fire pit.

“Did you even bother to chew it?” he inquired of the dog. His answer was a couple of thumps of tail on the stone floor.

Feren came in from the cold, and, after getting his lunch, took a seat next to Bard. “I am glad to see you, My Lord. The escort tells me your journey was free from incident.”

“Yes, it was, thank you. As you can see, I’ve been introduced to your passenger from the supply wagon.” Bard looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “He was the last thing I expected when I got to my room.”

Feren laughed boisterously, “I am sure that is true.  Were you as surprised as Old Ben?"

"Oh, you'll have to ask Percy who was more entertaining.  I'm positive the men were taking bets."

The Commander continued to snicker, then asked. "Do you like him?”

“We’re growing on each other. How much does he eat?”

“Quite a lot. But do not worry, if you give him as much as you eat, he should be fine. I caution you strongly, however, against giving him _Lembas._ It gives him gas.”

“Thanks for the warning. Now, what is _Lembas,_ exactly, so I know not to give it to him?”

“It is Waybread made by the Elves. One bite can satisfy as much as an entire meal. We brought a great deal of it from the Woodland Realm, for the winter.  While we are on duty, that is what we eat. It is convenient to take with us when we are on patrol in the forest, or hunting as well.  There is some stored here, in case the supply wagons do not come through.”

“How exactly did you learn about the dog’s....”

“I am glad to say, I was not there.” Feren grinned. “However, Thangon’s… ‘dilemma’ was legendary by the time Galan and his unit returned to the barracks.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend.” Bard told him.

“Thank you, My Lord. Galan was a good friend. He stood with me at my wedding, and held my handfasting cord.” Feren looked down into his food for a minute, then sighed, looking up. “Most of his unit was killed, and when we returned from Dale that first time, Thangon was searching for Galan and his friends. The ones who survived weren’t able to take him, and I could not, as we are hoping to get the girls and their grandfather. Gruffudd is missing a leg, and could trip and hurt himself.”

“He seems to fit in here, right enough. I think you and Thranduil had the right idea. I could use someone to follow me around and keep me company. I don’t know what to do with myself, and I just got back here!” Bard looked over at the big dog. “He looks sad and lonely.  Same as I feel.”

“He was much worse, My Lord, when we returned without his master. He was listless, and hardly ate. I hated to see it, because he is a valuable dog and a good companion. When Lord Thranduil approached me about bringing some cats to clear the Great Hall, I told him about Thangon, and he agreed you two need each other.”

“Maybe we do, at that. By the way, Tauriel says he understands Quenya, not Sindarin?”

“He knows commands in Quenya, which I will teach you, but he is an Elven-bred dog, My Lord. He will get to know you, and sense a great deal about what you want and need. I recommend you still learn the commands, but he may surprise you.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in meetings with just about everyone in charge of something. Schedules, work rosters and supply lists were gone over. Lessons in reading, and writing were planned, both in Westron and in Sindarin. Percy found and cleared out a huge empty hall for a practice and training arena. Training rosters were gone over, then the schedules for visits to the Woodland Realm for the men to see their families, at least once this winter. The Healer gave his report, as well.

Everyone would have a job, and everyone would be kept busy.

Bard made sure to pull Feren aside, when they were done, to speak privately in his chambers. “I am sure you’ve been told about my increased abilities, since I married Thranduil. My problem is, I don’t know how it will affect my archery or sword work.”

Feren nodded his head. “Lord Thranduil also mention something. I recommend that we train privately, until you know to what extent your abilities have changed. It pains me to say this, My Lord, but until you learn to control this properly, you will not be fit to lead your people in battle.”

Bard nodded his head, and sighed. “You’re right. Best to get started then. How about tomorrow, or the next day?”

Feren nodded. “I will make sure to schedule you with either myself or Tauriel every day.”

“Good.”

Later that evening, he sat in the big bed, alone, reading, while Thangon lay in front of the fireplace, sadly. “What’s the matter, boy?” He watched the animal’s lonely face, and made up his mind. “Come on then,” he patted Thranduil’s side of the bed. “Just be sure to give it up when the King comes to visit.” The dog came over, and with surprising grace, the leapt on the bed, and settled his head in Bard’s lap with a huge sigh. Bard smiled as he scratched his head, “I think you and I are going to be good friends.”

 

The Winter for the Men of Dale had officially begun.

 

**************

 

Thranduil made his way to his bedchamber, where he found a package on the bed, waiting for him.

He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a wooden box. With eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, he opened the box, and there was a thick, leather-bound book. He lifted it out, and leafed through the pages, but they were all blank, which puzzled him. A sealed letter fell out; the name on it was his, in Bard’s handwriting. He settled himself on the bed, broke the seal, and began to read:

> _Hello Love,_
> 
> _I hope you don’t mind me conspiring with Galion to put this together, but I wanted to surprise you!_
> 
> _Watching you in the evenings with the children, has been as much a gift to me as everything else you’ve brought into my life. You, me, my children and Tauriel are becoming a real family, and it feels magical. It IS magic, this happiness I feel, when we’re all together._
> 
> _It’s even better when we’re alone, isn’t it? Our times together are so wonderful, and I thank the Valar every day I’m allowed to have this with you. It’s a miracle to feel so happy and full inside, after years of being sad and alone._
> 
> _Now, about this book:  Remember, when I promised I would think of way to help with Legolas?_
> 
> _Well, I hope you like my solution._
> 
> _Please bear with me, while I explain, all right?_
> 
> _You’ve been incredibly brave, Thranduil. You’ve worked hard to make peace with your memories of Mírelen.  You can think about her now, and make your memories of her a part of your life again, to treasure, and carry with you for all your days. I know how hard it’s been for you, and I’m happy for you._
> 
> _I hope to meet her someday in Valinor, so I can thank her for what she did for you. I want to tell her how important she will always be to you, and just because your bond was severed, doesn’t mean you forgot her. I want to tell her about the children, and my Mattie, because I think, had they met, they would’ve liked each other._
> 
> _Now, take a deep breath, love - here’s my idea:_
> 
> _Thranduil, it’s time to introduce Mírelen to her son._
> 
> _If all Legolas can ever have of her, are stories and drawings, then give those to him! Tell him about her, Thranduil. Show him everything you can think of. Make her come alive on these pages, with your words, with your wonderful sketches, and your tears._
> 
> _Give her to this boy who has longed for her and missed her as much as you have. Tell him everything!_
> 
> _You, love, have the power to reunite them, and I know you'll find the courage to fill every single page._
> 
> _It could be something for him to read, and keep with him always, wherever his life takes him._
> 
> _Legolas will have no greater proof of how much you love him._
> 
> _Now, the hard part is this: Give him this gift, without any expectations. Prove to him, that, no matter what happens between you two, you simply want him to know his mother, be happy._ _I know you can do it._
> 
> _Thank you, Thranduil, for helping me to be the Ruler my people need._
> 
> _Thank you for teaching me what makes a King._
> 
> _I love you, so much, Thranduil._
> 
> _Bard_
> 
>  

****End of Book I of the Two Thrones Series****

See how our family fares over the long Winter in Book II: And Winter Came...

 

 ~~~~

 

**ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Authon nîth_ – “Young Warrior.” Thranduil uses it as a term of endearment for Bain, because he wants to be a soldier.  
_Hervenn nîn_ – My husband.  
_Iellig_ – My daughter.  
_Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn_ – I shall treasure your gift in my heart.  
_Ci fael, Meleth nîn_ – Thank you/Your gift was generous, my love.  
_Hervenn_ – husband  
Í _dhron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog, Meleth nîn. Avo dharo! Avo dharo!_ \- I want to see your eyes when you come, my love. Don’t stop! Don’t stop!  
_Gi melin, Thranduil_ – I love you, Thranduil  
_Ci velethril nîn, Bard._ – You have my love, Bard.  
_Suilad Hervenn nîn_ – Greetings, My Husband.  
_Thangon_ – A variation of _'Thangail,'_ which means "Great Shield."  
_Lembas_ – Elvish Waybread

 

_NOTES:_

_Babinod_ means “infant” in Welsh. I just threw that in there…

Floyd is derived from the Welsh name, Lloyd. Close enough; because I’ve always wanted a huge, orange cat named Floyd…

The dog, Thangon, looks like an Old English Mastiff, but, since it’s my verse, he’s even bigger, and doesn’t drool!


	33. Reunion (Illustration by Creepy Scientist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a wonderful surprise!
> 
> My very talented friend, Creepy Scientist, whose tumblr blog can be found [here](http://creepyscientist.tumblr.com/), has agreed to illustrate the story of Tilda and her doll, Charlotte, and how our beloved Elvenking reunited them!!! 
> 
> These events in these illustrations can be found in Chapter Two, and Chapter Eleven.
> 
> I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters featured in Tolkien's works. I make no profit from my stories; it is simply a loving tribute to my affection for this universe.


End file.
